


Find You

by jellyryans (ryankellycc)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Dreams, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parapsychology, Psychic Abilities, Temporary Character Death, check notes at beginning of chapter for warnings/pairings/etc, dubious knowledge of everything yikes, so i think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-03-08 16:18:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryankellycc/pseuds/jellyryans
Summary: “I guess my dreams wake me up,” he answered, wary of the fine line between being polite and over-sharing.“Nightmares?”Daichi thought about the wisp of silver he saw right before opening his eyes. “Definitely not.”Every night, Daichi dreams of Suga. Every day, he's reminded that dreams are all he has left.At least he thought they were, right up until the day he ran into someone who couldn't have been anyone else.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome? 
> 
> I’m going to be putting relationship tags, warnings, and other notes before chapters, so please read those before continuing. There’s gonna be mystery, tough stuff, and angst, but also some really good things? Beauty and love in our darkest hours. That’s the plan, anyway. 
> 
> Notes specific to chapter one: some brief kurodai (not endgame, but I love their chemistry and friendship, which will be part of the overall story), implied sex and direct mention but no smut, death mention (not graphic)

Sawamura Daichi had the same dream every night. 

And even though it was the same, he never remembered much. He could’ve been lounging on the white sand beaches of Jamaica, battling the wind at the peak of Fuji-san, gliding through crowds in the middle of New York City, or looking through the Arc de Triomphe at the Champs-Élysées. He could’ve just been sitting with his back to the house, the way he used to, admiring the way the sun shone through peonies in bloom.

It was equally possible that he could’ve been nowhere at all, suspended in the mysterious ether that connected souls or standing completely still in a blank white space. 

He could’ve been floating in the unknown dust into which the universe was expanding or walking the streets outside his apartment, but, in the end, it didn’t matter in the slightest. How could he be bothered with extraneous details when Suga was there, right within arm’s reach?

In the dreams, Suga stood in front of him and smiled, the coy, close-lipped smile he wore when he was trying not to betray how happy he was, the same one that graced his face when Daichi brought home flowers to surprise him, or made him something extra spicy after a long day of work, or told him he loved him for the millionth time in a day. It was a smile that could’ve caused and ended wars, solved world hunger, or brought the stars crashing to the Earth, and Daichi knew it was just for him. 

Suga was so close that Daichi could breathe him in again. He got the smell of their laundry detergent, Suga’s cheap face lotion, and the mint chapstick from America to which they had both become addicted.

He knew it was a dream, that even if it was a vivid dream it was still only his imagination, but he felt the warmth of Suga’s skin as it coursed through his veins and seeped into his bones, and mapped every detail of Suga’s face, from the soft, silver hairs at his temples, to the northernmost mole nestled in the lower corner of his left eye, to the dry patch of skin on his jaw that used to make him self-conscious. 

He also knew that as soon as he reached out, Suga would disappear, but he always raised his hand to Suga’s cheek. 

 

Sawamura Daichi woke up from the same dream every night. 

Whether he wanted it or not, the dim glow from the street lamps bled into the corners of his vision and the muted hum of tires on the streets outside guided him back to consciousness.

The ceiling, pock-marked with stucco, loomed over him, and Daichi contemplated the dips and grooves of the craters swirling above his head. In the wee hours of the morning, he felt like he floated over the ceiling instead, like an astronaut looking down at the moon. Daichi wondered, not for the first time, if astronauts ever prayed for gravity to bring them back to Earth or if the cold depths of space held enough wonder that they would rather spend lifetimes alone among the stars.

He listened to a breath as it escaped his lungs and someone shifted next him. Out of the corner of his eye, Daichi took in the landscape of the man’s back; waves of skin unfurled into curves of muscle and shadows glided over bare expanse like sand shifting on high desert dunes.

Daichi had never been to the moon or the desert and he had never liked the beach. Suddenly, he longed for somewhere he could put his feet down and stand, solid ground that would hold beneath his feet. He hated that the constant barrage of life’s concrete minutiae felt less real than his dreams. 

He tilted his chin up without moving his body to get a look at the guy’s face but it was obscured by two of Daichi’s pillows and, if he hadn’t been able to track the rise and fall of the guy’s back, he would have assumed the guy had suffocated himself. 

It would be at least an hour before he could get back to sleep, so Daichi combed through the events from the day before, hoping that the guy’s name would pop up somewhere in his memory.

He couldn’t remember what he did during the day before, but he met Tanaka in Akihabara early that evening so they could gorge themselves on fast food burgers and sodas so huge they could’ve put the Americans to shame. It wasn’t the most glamorous way to spend Christmas Eve, but it was theirs, and had become something of a tradition when they moved to the city the year before. 

When Tanaka had finally gotten his fill of corn syrup and grease, out-eating Daichi by a landslide, they wandered up and down the busy streets, pointing out decorations when they saw them. Daichi got distracted by the garish lights of one of the shops, and Tanaka disappeared to grab some pebbly snow off the street. He had lobbed it straight at Daichi’s face and Tanaka later described Daichi’s reaction as the ‘unholy union between a squealing piglet and a bad horror movie victim.”

For most of Daichi’s adult life, he had been uncomfortable with any deviance from the social norm. Incidents like this had made him nervous - his shoulders would tense and his eyes would glaze over and anger would win out over every other emotion boiling beneath his skin. 

That was before, and things happened. People changed. 

Still reeling from the shock and acting instinctively, Daichi darted in the opposite direction to make his own disgusting snowball, chased Tanaka down, grabbed him by the collar and shoved it down the back of his jacket, hoping that somewhere, somehow Suga would hear the way Tanaka cut the silent night with a high-pitched shriek. 

He smiled to himself in bed, remembering how he and Tanaka chased each other with gobs of snow until they were both panting, completely soaked, and wholly embarrassed in front of hordes of couples attempting to charm each other into love. He liked to think that he won whatever dumb contest they made up along the way, though they were both in agreement that Suga would’ve kicked both their asses. 

Then, Daichi had walked with Tanaka back to his tiny apartment, feeling a little silly, but definitely not silly enough to regret even a minute of it. His pants were freezing and stuck to his legs, but he was able to change into Tanaka’s spare clothes. The pants were a little long in the leg but Tanaka had a rare moment of tact and didn’t point it out, even when Daichi pouted. They hunkered down for a movie, some action drama with explosions and shouting and gunfire that had put Tanaka right to sleep, like a demented lullaby. 

Once he was sure Tanaka was out for the night, Daichi had left, locking up after himself with the only other key on his ring and headed for the train station. He entertained the idea of going straight home when he got off the train in Ebisu, but his mind and body had other plans. He found himself in front of a door with a small, wooden sign that spelled, in English, The Black Cat. 

Daichi didn’t care much for the name, so he referred to it simply as “the bar.” The bar wasn’t fancy or official enough to make it onto any gay hot-spot lists, but it was two streets away from his apartment and had a large selection of alcohol with exceptionally decent prices, and Daichi couldn’t ask for anything else. 

He tried not to go often, using Tanaka’s sobriety as an excuse to cover his own self-destructive urges, but some days he couldn’t stay away. He needed a place to shrug off the broken pieces of his life from where they dug into his shoulders, somewhere he could take a break from being the unbreakable man. 

Inside, plastic snowflakes and faded paper garland clung to the walls for dear life with tape from years past, and Daichi laughed to himself, choosing instead to admire the deep amber of his whiskey and the way the pulsing lights reflected off the ice.

His memory had started to get fuzzy after that. Daichi had lost count of his drinks when someone, the guy in his bed, had pulled up next to him, greeted him by name like they knew each other, and whispered in his ear. The guy’s breath sent shivers down his spine and Daichi vaguely remembered agreeing to something before the guy winked, quickly kissed him on the cheek and grabbed his hand. 

Flashes came back to him in quick succession after that, his back against the door, tongues clashing, bared skin, exploratory hands, shaky breaths. Daichi didn’t have to look at his floor to know that most of their clothing had been strewn haphazardly over the carpet as they made their way to the bed. 

He would’ve been just as happy to brush off the evening like it had never happened, but, upon closer inspection, he realized he had hooked up with the guy before, from the same bar, just a couple weeks before. Dread settled in his gut, making itself right at home with the heavy hand of guilt, and he shut his eyes tightly enough to see stars.

What was the guy’s name? Katsuki? Kentarou… Kurosaki - Kuroo. 

Daichi pulled his hand down his face, and any relief he might’ve felt in recalling the name evaporated. After they had hooked up the last time, he had written his number on a business card and asked Daichi to call, which, of course, he hadn’t. 

He knew he would have to do something other than cross his fingers that, come sunrise, Kuroo would suffer from a totally innocuous form of short-term amnesia and they could both escape the awkward morning-after, but just the thought of it made his brain throb against the back of his skull. 

He made the decision to worry about Kuroo later, choosing instead to take care of his headache.

As carefully as he could, Daichi crawled out of bed. He swayed dangerously, catching himself right before falling back onto the mattress and holding his breath. When Kuroo didn’t stir, Daichi took the chance to slink out of the bedroom. 

His mind lurched in time with his stomach as he trudged to the bathroom and he leaned his entire weight against the sink as he knocked back a glass of water. 

Standing in front of the mirror and without looking at himself, Daichi rubbed his face. It was the same every day; he dreamed of Suga’s face, he woke up, and he filled the time until he could fall asleep again. It haunted him, how Suga had tried to talk to him about dreams and all that metaphysical stuff while he was alive, how Daichi had kept himself at least an arm’s length from the topic, like he could only understand Suga by losing him. 

Despite the amount of care Daichi took in tip-toeing back into the bedroom, Kuroo was propped up on an elbow, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Daichi smiled at him, hoping that it would lull Kuroo back to sleep.

Instead, Kuroo worried his bottom lip. His voice was soft and muffled, heavy with sleep. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just had to get a sip of water.” 

Kuroo arched a brow. “Not to be weird or anything, but you were in there for like thirty minutes.”

“Oh,” Daichi said dumbly, realizing that he must’ve been because his headache was gone. He wasn’t bothered by the fact that Kuroo counted the minutes he was away, more so that he hadn’t even realized. He thought he had been getting better about losing track of time and apologized half-heartedly. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Kuroo assured him. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

It was sweet, Daichi thought, but the longer they stayed awake the more awkward he felt. “I’m okay.” He made a show of pulling the covers up to his shoulders. “Let’s just get back to sleep?”

“But you look like you’re wide awake.”

Daichi cursed his terrible acting and Kuroo’s surprising nighttime acuity. “I’ll get back to sleep in no time, don’t worry.” Daichi tucked himself in again, and then added, “I’m used to it anyway.”

He realized he made a mistake when Kuroo sat up further in bed and stroked his chin, eyes focused on Daichi’s face. It was impossible to deny that Kuroo was handsome, tall and built but somehow maintaining a youthful lean quality that made Daichi ache with jealousy. At that moment, half-dressed and with the streetlights behind him, he might’ve been a statue in a museum, an ancient god with hideous hair. 

“When you say you’re used to it, what do you mean? Waking up to get a drink? Are you dehydrated?” Kuroo asked in rapid succession. 

“No,” Daichi huffed, surrendering to the last conversation he wanted to have at four in the morning with a stranger in his bed. He pushed himself against the headboard and sat up. _Sometimes the only way out is through_ , he reminded himself.

“At least I don’t think so, not usually.”

“So if it’s not dehydration, you just wake up? How often?”

Daichi let out a long sigh. “Every night,” he admitted.

“Since when?” 

“Since my partner died.”

He regretted the words as they left his mouth, not wanting to burden Kuroo with his past, but now that it hung in the air between them, Daichi was curious as to how he would respond. 

Kuroo didn’t ask any questions, but his gaze softened. He closed his mouth with a soft ‘oh’ and reached for Daichi’s hand. “Jesus Sawamura. I’m sorry.”

Daichi nodded. He understood that propriety and social convention required an apology, but even after two years, five months, and fifteen days, he didn’t know how else to respond. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Kuroo said quietly. He bit the inside of his cheek and his lips moved, like he was trying the words out before saying them, and Daichi braced himself. “I’m sorry if this is too personal, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but is there something specific that wakes you up?”

“I guess my dreams wake me up,” Daichi answered, wary of the fine line between being polite and oversharing.

“Nightmares?”

Daichi thought about the wisp of silver he saw right before opening his eyes. “Definitely not.”

Kuroo’s shoulders relaxed into Daichi’s smile. “That’s good at least,” he said thoughtfully. “What do you dream about?”

Suddenly, the thought of sharing Suga with Kuroo made his skin crawl, so he lied. “I can’t remember.”

“Interesting. Have you seen someone about it? Doesn’t strike me as normal.”

Daichi laughed, breathy and short and without joy. “I’ve got it under control.” 

He had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea of normalcy and wasn’t prepared to broach the topic with a stranger, but the truth was he didn't talk about them with anyone, not even Tanaka. He had only spoken about the dreams once, to a counselor back in Sendai, right when the dreams started. The counselor had said that dreaming about lost loved ones was a common part of the grieving process and that the dreams would eventually evolve, eventually fading as he came to terms with the loss. It should’ve comforted him, but the idea of losing the dreams felt like losing Suga all over again. Thinking about it even then made his chest tight. 

However, Daichi’s rational mind, the one that had poured over internet research and reminded him that recurring vivid dreams were not healthy, and every day he woke up exhausted, sympathized with Kuroo. Like everyone else, he was only trying to help, so Daichi attempted another smile. 

“Okay...” Kuroo said, the word lingering a bit too long on his lips. “But, if you ever feel like you don’t, I know a guy, a sleep specialist, who might be able to monitor you during the night. I can give you his number?”

Daichi patted the top of Kuroo’s hand, an impersonal gesture, like he hadn’t just fucked the guy. “If you want.”

“I’ll write it down in the morning,” Kuroo said as he stifled a yawn.

“Can we go back to sleep now?” Daichi asked, the hope obvious in his voice

A lazy grin spread across Kuroo’s face. “I’m ready if you are.”

Daichi took the cue and shimmied back down on the bed. Kuroo hovered until Daichi noticed and lifted an arm. Kuroo was bigger than him in almost every way but he curled right into Daichi’s chest. _It was better than watching him suffocate himself_ , Daichi thought, and he relaxed under the weight of Kuroo’s body, slowing his breathing until their chests rose and fell in tandem. 

Kuroo drifted back to sleep within minutes, leaving Daichi with soft snores, a hand curled comfortably around his waist, and his thoughts. 

The first time he had hooked up with someone else after Suga, he wasn’t surprised by the guilt or how much he missed him, but he was surprised by how his skin sizzled under someone else’s fingertips, how good it felt to have bare skin pressed against his own. 

He’d told Asahi after one of their first group therapy sessions, and Asahi told him it was yet another part of the grieving process, that the guilt, yearning, attraction and need for intimacy were all very real, and that Daichi needed to confront them. 

He didn’t take Asahi’s opinion lightly, professional or not, so he did his best to internalize the idea despite the fact that sharing a bed with someone else still felt like the last thing in the world he should ever accept. 

On good days, he was able to shut his eyes and turn everything off, but that night Daichi resigned himself to floating in and out of consciousness while Kuroo slept next to him. 

At six in the morning, a couple hours later, Kuroo’s phone punched a hole through his eardrums. 

Daichi was unfairly jolted back to the waking world but Kuroo didn’t even open his eyes as he hit the snooze button. He listened as Kuroo pushed off the alarm every four minutes for an entire half hour before his patience wore out and he nudged him with more force than necessary.

He peered at Daichi from in between the pillows which he had grabbed at some point in the night. “Morning already?”

“Seems like it,” Daichi said, pointing at Kuroo’s phone. 

Kuroo groaned. “Ten more minutes.”

“Nope,” Daichi said, nudging him again and motioning toward the pillows. “Ten more minutes and I’ll be deaf and you’ll have suffocated yourself.”

“Excuse me?” Kuroo was up in an instant and removed the pillows from his head. His hair stuck straight up, defying everything Daichi understood about the laws of gravity. “It’s an art.”

“An art?” Daichi parroted, pantomiming his face pressed between invisible pillows.

Kuroo snorted. “My mouth definitely does not do that fish lip thing you’re doing, and it’s the only way I can style my hair.”

“Bedhead isn’t a style.”

“You’re acting like this is entirely new,” Kuroo said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve slept over.”

Daichi pressed his lips into a tight line. So much for filling the morning-after space with light-hearted conversation until Kuroo made his escape. “Right.” 

Kuroo got out of bed and walked around the room, examining the pieces of clothing decorating the floor until he found his own undershirt. “So you did recognize me?”

Daichi watched Kuroo’s fingers work their way down the plastic buttons of the over shirt Kuroo had plucked off the floor next and made a conscious effort to steady his breathing. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“For what?” 

“For not calling.”

Kuroo shrugged, but the exaggerated way his shoulders dropped triggered Daichi’s guilt reflex for what felt like the hundredth time in the past seven hours.

“It’s not you, it’s, I’m,” Daichi said, trailing off. He didn’t know what to say that would feel like a natural extension of their conversation the night before and wasn’t a cliché. He sat up on the bed, swung his legs over the side, and let his hands drop to his knees.

Kuroo sucked air through his teeth and saved him before he could overthink it. “Apology accepted. Begrudgingly.”

“Thanks?” 

“You’re welcome.”

They fell into a heavy silence as Kuroo got dressed and Daichi was desperate to break it. His mind raced through the night before, as well as the last time they hooked up. The memory of another guy came back to him. It was vague, but he thought maybe Kuroo had mentioned that someone was either at the bar, or coming to the bar, or meeting him later. Looking back on it, he really should’ve asked more questions. “Was there someone bothering you at the bar last night? I think I remember you saying something about a guy?”

Kuroo hissed through his teeth, seemingly caught off guard by the question, and Daichi was about to apologize when Kuroo sat next to him. 

“He wasn’t... We’re just…,” Kuroo tried, clearing his throat. “It’s not important right now. But second time’s a charm, though. Right?”

Daichi cocked his head at the abrupt change in topic. “Huh?”

“As in, second time’s a charm and you’ll actually text and we can hang out?” Kuroo clarified. “Maybe without getting drunk?”

If there was a way out of it, Daichi would’ve pressed the gas and sped away, but he was stuck there, half-dressed in his own bed with a stranger once-removed.

“Um, yeah, okay.”

“You don’t seem convinced,” Kuroo said, his voice carefully devoid of judgement. 

He was right. Daichi looked down where his hands rested on top of his knees. He pictured Asahi, with his soft gestures and gentle voice, telling him that he didn’t need to forget about Suga in order to move on, that eventually he would be ready to open his heart again. He wasn’t ready, not yet, not when he clung to his dreams, to Suga, wanting nothing more than to see his face in everyone. He didn’t want to jump into anything, but he didn’t want to be an asshole either. It hadn’t only been Kuroo that had led them back to Daichi’s apartment. 

“Relax, Sawamura, no pressure, especially after what you said last night, about your partner… I don’t mind either way, I’d just like to know what to expect.”

Unsure of how appropriate the gesture was to their conversation, Daichi reached out for Kuroo’s hand. Kuroo eyed Daichi’s it before closing their palms together, like they were shaking on a deal.

“I don’t know what I can offer, but I would like to stay it touch. Honestly,” Daichi said, meaning it. “I’m sorry for not calling before. That was a jerk move.”

Half of Kuroo’s mouth turned up into a smile. “Apology accepted, and this time without the grudge.”

He pulled Daichi off the bed in one swift motion and slung his arm over Daichi’s shoulder. They walked like that to the kitchen, where Daichi flipped on the electric kettle and let go of Kuroo to hunt down the only other mug he owned. Surreptitiously, he wiped the dust out of it while Kuroo settled into one of the bar stools on the other side of the counter. 

“I mean it, that I don’t mind whatever it is we’re doing.”

“I appreciate it,” Daichi said, pulling some old tea bags out of the the back of an otherwise empty cabinet. 

Kuroo rapped his knuckles on the counter and chewed the inside of his lip, his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry again, about your loss.”

Daichi smiled without any effort. “Thanks.”

Kuroo nodded in reverence. “And you’re sure you’re fine with the sleep thing? You don’t have sleep apnea? There are home tests, you know.”

The kettle clicked off, steam rising from the spout, and Daichi put the dust-free mug in front of Kuroo, along with his last energy bar and a banana that he didn’t realize he had but still looked mostly edible. “Pretty sure I’m fine, unless it bothers you for some reason.”

“Not at all,” Kuroo said, his voice on edge. “I figured it would bother you.”

“It doesn’t, not really.”

Kuroo sipped his tea and eyed him over the rim like Daichi was a toddler standing in a puddle of paint and adamantly denying any knowledge of who might’ve spilled it. “You might not be getting enough sleep.”

“I don’t know what else to say to convince you that it’s normal, or whatever normal means for me these days.”

“Fair,” Kuroo conceded, and then finished his tea in three long sips. 

Daichi stood and leisurely drank his own tea while Kuroo picked up his mug and walked around Daichi to put it in the sink. On the way back around, he caught Daichi by the waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. The puffs of breath on his neck gave Daichi goosebumps. “I think engaging in any sort of physical contact with you while standing is going to give me permanent spinal damage.”

Daichi swatted at Kuroo’s face but he just laughed and jerked his head away from Daichi’s hand, still flush against Daichi’s back. He felt his chest rattle with each peal of Kuroo’s laughter and sent his elbow back to nudge Kuroo in the gut. “You must have somewhere to be if your alarm wakes you up at the crack of dawn?”

“Crap!” Kuroo shouted. He released Daichi and ran around the counter, grabbing his bag from the door where he dumped it the night before and jamming his feet into his shoes.

“Head’s up,” Daichi said, throwing Kuroo the neglected energy bar and banana. 

Kuroo caught each one as they flew at his head. “Need my potassium to get through the day,” he said with a wink.

“Yup,” Daichi laughed. He waved as Kuroo opened the door to the hallway. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” Kuroo sang over his shoulder. He made a quick exit and accidentally slammed the door behind him.

In the fresh solitude of his apartment, Daichi waited to hear the ding of the elevator down the hall before he rolled the tension out of his shoulders and looked at his phone. There were four new messages waiting on the screen. 

>[Asahi]: I have a new group on Thursday, 7. Can you come? It’s in the basement of that new community center, by your favorite ramen place.

>[Asahi]: Please? I hope you can. I’m really nervous. 

>[Asahi]: I’ll treat you to dinner if you come.

>[Asahi]: Daichi?? Please?? :(

A wicked grin spread across his face. He didn’t have anything planned but Asahi made it too easy. 

>[Daichi]: You’re a big baby. 

Asahi responded immediately with another flurry of messages.

>[Asahi]: I know. Sorry! :/

>[Asahi]: Sorry. I’m just really nervous.

>[Asahi]: Really, but dinner after?

Daichi blew air out from between his lips and laughed to himself. He had actually met Asahi on a blind date, an impulsive idea as part of his plan to meet people when he moved to Tokyo, and, predictably, it was a disaster. All it took was Asahi mentioning his training to be a grief counselor and Daichi was sobbing into his expensive sake. Asahi had the social grace not to mention Daichi’s breakdown again and took Daichi’s ribbing in stride, and somehow they became friends. 

>[Daichi]: One more apology and I’m going to kick your ass.

>[Asahi]: So you’re coming?

>[Daichi]: Ofc you goofball.

He added a note to his calendar, locked the screen, and set his phone face down on the counter. He felt the vibration of incoming messages but ignored the phone in favor of staring into the empty space of his living room. 

It didn’t do anyone any good to think about it, but Suga would’ve loved Asahi. He would’ve been all over the guy in a heartbeat, inviting him home for a meal, stuffing him full of food, and then pouncing. Daichi would’ve leaned back in his chair and laughed, adding to Suga’s jabs when he could with a serious face and not-so secretly reveling in Suga’s laughter. 

Daichi had told Asahi once, how Suga would’ve loved him, and exactly how Suga would’ve shown his love, and the look on Asahi’s face had been priceless, a delightful mixture of attempting to hide his fear with a mask tact and compassion.

He stayed there, lost in the memory, until his own alarm went off, over an hour later.

Moving to Tokyo hadn’t been easy, and people told him that it wasn’t a good idea, but it was the only thing that made sense at the time. Sendai and all its memories felt like a prison and, after Tanaka’s accident and subsequent stint in rehab, Daichi sold his house, Tanaka abandoned his awful roommates, and they packed their bags. 

Daichi was pleased by how seamlessly they each wove their lives into the urban landscape. Tanaka went straight for what he called the “city-boy” experience in Akihabara while Daichi went smaller. When he missed Sendai, or felt overwhelmed, he took comfort in his neighborhood. Ebisu was definitely more city than he had ever experienced but it could feel small, with the shops and izakaya and the bar and narrow streets. Everything he needed, with the exception of his best friend, was within walking distance, including his office. 

The walking commute to Garden Place was short, but his mind had time to wander, usually going back to his dreams or imagining that the Tokyo morning rush was the dream and floating with Suga was reality. 

He allowed the scrambling crowd of commuters carry him toward the main entrance of Garden Place, through the hallways and on to the elevator. He ignored the jostling, the elbows in the side and the heels crushing his toes until he was out of the elevator and standing in front of the door to office, finally able to breathe. 

The firm he worked for was small, and their office was barely big enough to accomodate their eleven-person team, but the close quarters suited Daichi. It was a tiny oasis in a frantic and overcrowded metropolis, a protected space in a city that tossed people like waves and in which he knew his place.

“Hey, hey, hey! Sawamura!”

Daichi wasn’t even halfway through the door before his boss greeted him. He clutched his bag close as he braced himself for the man barrelling toward him. Bokuto Koutarou had a way of making a home in every space he filled, including other people’s personal space.

“Bokuto-san,” he nodded. “Good morning.”

Bokuto sidled up next to him and walked with him to his desk. “You’ve been working here for six months, Sawamura, drop the honorific already,” he laughed.

Daichi shook his head with a smile, as he always did when they had this talk, and gave him the usual retort. “But Akaashi still uses it, and he’s known you longer. Seems appropriate.”

“That’s his thing,” Bokuto snorted. “If he doesn’t have his thing, we’ll all have to face the consequences!”

Bokuto’s name was on the firm, and he was a powerhouse in the courtroom, but he had particularities that made him human, like the time he sulked for an hour at his desk because the combini across the street ran out of lemon cakes, or the time he refused to come into work until enough people emailed him to tell him that they needed him in order to move forward on a particular brief. 

Akaashi was his number two and business partner, although his name wasn’t on the firm, and he had his own way of exercising his power, winning his own cases and balancing the work with organizing the office around Bokuto’s needs. Akaashi’s silent prowess, carefully stoic expression, and intense capacity for work were a frightening combination, and they all knew it. Akaashi was always allowed to have his thing and they were better for it. 

“Fair enough, Bokuto.”

Bokuto sucked in a breath, happy with the way his name sounded in the air. “Good! Because I’m the boss and - hey hey, Akaashi!”

Daichi set his bag down on his chair and smoothed the shoulders of his jacket when Bokuto’s attention was redirected. Akaashi walked the opposite direction, toward Bokuto’s office with a stack of fresh photocopies. “Bokuto-san, are we still meeting to talk about Tokyo Metropolitan?”

“Yep,” Bokuto chirped. “Coming! Just gotta talk to Sawamura for another minute.”

Akaashi glanced at Daichi, gave his tacit approval, and then strode into Bokuto’s office. Bokuto followed him with his eyes and only turned back to Daichi when Akaashi was out of sight. “Akaashi and I are going to iron out the details, but I’ll probably call on you to go to the hospital Friday morning to pick up some papers from the administrator, that okay?”

Daichi tensed, but recovered fast enough to escape Bokuto’s notice. “Sure.”

“Great! We’ll send you the info you’ll need after our meeting.” He leaned into his hand on the desk and further into Daichi’s space.

“Sounds good,” Daichi said, worried that he would run out of things to say before Bokuto decided it was time to leave.

“Good.” Bokuto tapped his fingers on Daichi’s desk once, then twice. “Good good!”

Bokuto left with that, but he stopped to talk to Komi, then Washio, and then Konoha. Luckily for Akaashi, the rest of the team wasn’t in to distract him further, and Bokuto made it to his office with only two stern reminders from Akaashi. 

As soon as Bokuto and Akaashi were behind a closed door, the idle chatter began and distracted Daichi from his conversation with Bokuto. 

Komi snorted after Washio whispered to him. Daichi couldn’t catch the words, only the low volume of his murmuring, but he did see Konoha lean across the large table they shared and heard the office door open behind him with Onaga’s voice. Daichi dug around in his bag for his headphones and connected them to his laptop just before Komi could lean in his direction. 

Hours later, a large hand on his back startled Daichi away from the jumbled words on the screen of his laptop. He looked at the clock - lunch time already. 

Washio let out an easy laugh, one that rolled through him and into whoever he addressed. “You still with us there, Sawamura?”

“Yeah,” Daichi chuckled, riding Washio’s laughter. “Just making sure this statement is done before Akaashi’s lawyer senses tingle and he dumps another one in my lap.”

“Don’t let Bokuto hear you talk like that,” Washio said seriously. “You might cost us our New Year break.”

Daichi furrowed his brow. “I didn’t mean any offence…”

“Still,” Konoha chimed in, “you can never be sure with those two.”

The underlying joke was that Akaashi and Bokuto denied they were dating but were so obvious about their feelings for each other that the office waited with baited breath for the day they admitted it openly and officially got together. He only knew about the rumor because he had made the unfortunate mistake of asking Komi about it on his first day, when he caught Akaashi staring openly at Bokuto’s ass. 

He didn’t want to get involved, but Komi told him the story regardless. 

Bokuto and Akaashi went back to school, right in Tokyo, where they were the captain and vice captain of their high school volleyball team in their final years. Their distant past was a little murky and the details weren’t clear, but Komi said Bokuto’s parents had somehow found out about Bokuto’s _inclinations_ , saw Akaashi as part of it, and threw a fit. Immediately after the ordeal, Bokuto went to America for university, but returned to Japan for law school, the same school Akaashi attended a year after Bokuto matriculated, and they had worked together closely ever since.

It might’ve been the office joke, and they were all close enough that maybe Komi and everyone else had good intentions as they gossiped, but the whole situation bothered the hell out of Daichi.

He understood how traumatic parental intervention could be. He was lucky that his relationship with his younger brother and sister hadn’t changed, but he and his parents could barely stand to look at each other, especially after Suga’s death, when they had not-so subtly mentioned that Daichi was “free” to explore “other options.”

What he didn’t understand was why two people that wanted to be together would choose not to be, especially when they were surrounded by friends, especially when they specialized in and worked tirelessly with the law specifically for human rights issues, including but not limited to LGBTQ cases. Even if public shows of affection weren’t on the table, they obviously cared deeply for one another, had a community and people that would support them.

It wasn’t his place, and maybe they weren’t actually involved, or maybe they were but didn’t want to give in to office gossip, so Daichi stayed in his lane, but it frustrated him. 

“Anyway,” Washio coughed. “Gonna come out with us? I think it’s Akaashi’s day to choose, which means that we might actually eat somewhere practical and get back to the office without needing two hour nap.”

“Can’t today, I’m meeting a friend,” Daichi said, making a show of looking at the time. 

Washio nodded. “Next time, then.”

“Sure thing,” Daichi agreed.

 

No matter how many times he ascended the stairs of Akihabara station with the pulsating lunch crowd, Daichi had to take a deep breath before he stepped forward. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk as he walked, amazed by how crowded it was every minute of every day. 

Daichi trusted muscle memory to guide him north, away from the electronic stores, across streets and around corners, and deposit him at the correct storefront. Without looking in the windows and avoiding the myriad of posters, books, and plastic faces staring back at him with empty, stylized eyes, he walked through the door, which chimed to alert the staff. 

“Hey man!”

Daichi made eye contact with the owner of the voice over the shelves of boxes and through the glass cases of figurines and waved. When he arrived at the counter in the center of the emporium, two strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and large palms gripped his shirt. 

“Looking good, my guy,” Tanaka said as he pulled back. “Even for a Monday!”

They had just seen each other the day before, but the bear hug was another one of their traditions. Suga had always insisted on it, so they did as well. Daichi snorted as Tanaka pulled back and rubbed the spots on his arms that had just been squeezed in an iron grip. “Not as good as you, jesus, Tanaka.”

Tanaka flexed through his company-issue polo shirt and made a motion to kiss his left bicep. “So ya noticed? I’ve been going to the gym every night, after work, making it a habit and all that.”

“Definitely shows,” Daichi said, laughing again as Tanaka kissed his right bicep for good measure. “You ready for lunch?”

“Just a sec. Narita’ll be back from his break in a few minutes.” Tanaka looked over Daichi’s shoulder, in the direction of the front entrance. “Plus,” he whispered, “she’ll be in any second.”

Daichi rolled his eyes. “Who again?” He asked, the words dripping in sarcasm. 

“You know,” Tanaka said, bouncing where he stood. “Her!”

“That’s what I thought,” Daichi said in triumph. “You _still_ haven’t gotten her name? It’s been months!”

“Shh!” Tanaka hissed right as the door chimed. 

The door chimed as she entered the store and the winter chill hung in the air for just a second before door shut behind her and she collected herself. Even Daichi had to admit that she was beautiful, taller than he was (which seemed to be a theme anymore), muscles obvious despite her layers, a short brown bob that framed her winter ruddy cheeks, and eyes brightening as they took in the store. She was radiant when she spotted Tanaka behind the counter and waved with both of her hands, like it would be stupid to just use one. 

“Ryuu!”

Daichi gave Tanaka a pointed look, but Tanaka cut him off with a rushed whisper. “Go wait in the office, I’ll come get you in five.” Daichi held up his watch. “I know, just, please?”

Tanaka pleaded with his eyes, his face an open book with every emotion written out, line by line and word by word. It was something he really liked about Tanaka, that everyone liked about him, and Daichi would rather eat dirt than admit that Tanaka even had something like puppy eyes, or that they worked on him, but he turned toward the office and only stopped momentarily to hear her hop toward the desk, say hello, and clap her hands. He huffed a laugh under his breath at Tanaka’s stuttered replies and pushed his way into the store office.

The “office” was more of a common area, and each employee had their own space marked off with an assortment of personal possessions. Daichi crossed the room to Tanaka’s self-proclaimed corner and sat down on the rickety plastic chair that Tanaka had rescued out of a dumpster. 

It was mostly empty except for a few posters of girls in bikinis, a giant coat, big but still not warm enough, and a small photo, the only one Tanaka had of actual people he knew, hastily tacked up next to the coat hook. Daichi eased the pin out of the wall and took it down.

It was an old picture, printed from an actual photo store, taken with a camera ancient enough that the time and date stamp was embedded into the negative and showed up in the print. 

May, eleven years earlier. Pink cherry blossoms falling in the background and two young, smiling faces. One had a shaved head and wore a school uniform, holding a rolled up diploma. The other had ashen blonde hair just beginning to gray and a smiled so wide that his eyes crinkled shut, his arm snug around the graduate’s neck in a chokehold. 

Daichi’s hand twitched with want. He wanted to reach up and run his fingers along the smile, the hair. There was still a part of him that very seriously thought that he would feel the teeth beneath his fingers, the taut lips of his smile, the impossible silkiness of his hair. It was a stupid impulse. He knew it was stupid. Pointless. Just like reaching out to Suga in his dreams and waking up with nothing.

So he held the picture and wished the same thing that he always did when he saw it, that he had could’ve known Suga longer, that maybe he could’ve been the one taking the picture, that they could’ve gone to school together, that they had more time.

If they had, then maybe it would’ve changed something. Maybe Suga wouldn’t have died, and maybe Tanaka wouldn’t have drowned himself in alcohol that last time and wrapped his car around a light post, almost killing himself in the process.

Maybe he could’ve had more than just his dreams. 

The hypotheticals were dangerous, but there he was. It wasn’t fair. 

He repeated what Asahi had told him to repeat, that he was grateful for the time, that he was grateful to have loved him, to have been loved. That he was grateful to have Tanaka as a friend, grateful that he had woken up after the accident, that he was recovering well.

Daichi was so grateful he could scream. 

The door opened behind him, breaking his trance, and he recognized the heavy footfalls of each step. Tanaka leaned against the wall with his arms across his chest, and joined Daichi in looking down at the photo.

“Hey, Tanaka,” Daichi said, then cleared his throat to wipe away some of the gravel from his voice. 

Tanaka hummed, a sign for Daichi to talk, but he never knew what to say. Tanaka had known Suga so much longer, they had been so close, and it seemed impossible that Tanaka wouldn’t feel Suga the way Daichi did at night, that if somehow Suga still existed in dreams that Tanaka would feel him, too, and that Daichi could finally convince himself that Suga was still there somehow, or at least that he wasn’t crazy for holding on to something as tenuous as a dream. 

Daichi snuck a look at Tanaka’s face, lips drawn into a line, eyes cast aside. But how could he bring all of that up? There was a chance that Tanaka had the same experience, but would it be worth putting Tanaka through that? He would never be able to forgive himself. 

“You ready for lunch?” Daichi asked instead. 

Tanaka looked up at him and Daichi thought he saw the slightest hint of disappointment, but Tanaka patted his stomach and nodded. “Hell yeah. Wanna get bread at the food court next door?”

“If you want, though that’s not much of a lunch.”

“It’ll do,” Tanaka said with a shrug and a half-smile. 

On the way to the food court, Tanaka pointed out a new shop across the street and rambled about how cool Kinoshita’s vacation sounded, as well as the story how he knocked over a super expensive figure while he was dusting that morning and thought he might pee himself, and then about how he showed up some prick who had the audacity to assume Tanaka wasn’t the local gachapon technique expert. 

“The nerve of some people,” Tanaka scoffed. 

Daichi listened to everything Tanaka said, only interjecting to hum in approval or laugh when it was appropriate. 

Once they had their bread and were settled in the warmth of the buzzing restaurant area, Daichi waited until Tanaka had taken a huge bite of his sandwich before asking, “So, Ryuu?”

Tanaka choked on the bite in his mouth and Daichi had his tongue in between his teeth as he bit back a laugh. 

“S-shut up,” Tanaka stuttered.

“Seriously, she gives you a familiar nickname and you don’t even know hers?”

Tanaka looked at him like he had grown an extra head. “Well duh! Have you seen her? She’s an angel! Angels don’t stoop to my level! Her name is probably something unpronounceable!”

“Mhm, so you’re afraid to ask,” Daichi said, chewing a bite of his own sandwich. “Thought you were more manly than that.”

“I’m man enough to admit when I’m afraid!” Tanaka shouted. “Don’t think I’m not!”

“Okay,” Daichi said, but the lilt in his voice let Tanaka know that he wasn’t buying it.

They ate in silence for a couple minutes before Daichi spoke again. “For what it’s worth, there are a million other shops in at least a dozen other neighborhoods that sell those dumb capsule toys, probably at better prices, so I highly doubt that she comes to yours specifically just because you have the best prices, or best selection, or whatever.”

“First off, we do have the best prices and selection, secondly, capsule toys are not dumb, and,” Tanaka paused, finger still high in the air. He let it drop to the table and traced a slow circle. “D’ya really think so?”

“I do,” Daichi said with his mouth full. “I’m not saying you should drop down on one knee and ask her to marry you, no, please don’t,” he added as he saw Tanaka’s face light up, “but I think you’re safe with just asking her name. And maybe asking her to my birthday thing this weekend.”

Tanaka spit his food on to the table and Daichi recoiled before pointing in disgust at the chewed up bit of food on his napkin, but Tanaka was too far gone in shock to notice. “You were just telling me to ask her name and now all of a sudden you want me to ask her out? Pick a thing, Daichi!”

“I just mentioned it because you’re the one planning it,” Daichi said as encouragingly as possible, but Tanaka, having wiped up the bit of food he spit, eyed him suspiciously. 

“And have _you_ asked people to come?” 

“I still have a week,” Daichi mumbled under his breath.

Tanaka scooted a little closer to Daichi so that he could pat his knee. “True that, my guy. But if I’m gonna invite this girl, you better grow a pair and invite people. It’s gotta be a rager. Nothing less for your birthday!”

“It’s not going to be a rager,” Daichi said in warning. “But I’ll try to ask around, really.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Tanaka cheered, raising the last bit of his lunch in the air. “Wouldn’t want Suga looking down on us and pouting all disappointed-like because we couldn’t manage to get a group of people together to celebrate your day.”

Daichi smiled, one of the first genuine smiles of the day. “No, definitely wouldn’t want that.”

“But, enough about that and me,” Tanaka said, suddenly dropping the subject. “How about your big shot lawyering? Any big work plans this week?”

“Shut up, you know I’m the lowest member of the firm.”

“Still,” Tanaka said with his mouth full. 

“But, uh, no, nothing huge. Just the usual.”

“Wanna meet me for breakfast Friday?” Tanaka asked. “There’s a big sale happening Thursday night, so I get to come in late. Figured we could go somewhere you’d actually like this time?”

It was tempting, and Daichi thought about his schedule, about Thursday’s meeting with Asahi, and then he remembered Bokuto’s request. He frowned. “I can’t, have to run an errand for work that morning.”

“Oh? Whatcha doing?”

So much for trying to talk around it, Daichi thought to himself. He knew Tanaka would ask questions until he got an answer. “Bokuto wants me to go to the hospital on Friday morning to collect some information for a case.”

Tanaka stopped chewing immediately and swallowed. He looked Daichi straight in the eye, all of his focus on his face. “You gonna be okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Daichi said, putting on his most neutral expression. 

“Don’t do that,” Tanaka snapped. 

His rational mind believed it, but Daichi still struggled to reign in the grimace lurking right underneath his bland expression. “It’s just a place.” 

“God, Daichi,” Tanaka said. He rubbed his eyes and then pulled his hands down his face. “You always tell me that it’s okay to be,” he held up his hands in air quotes, “honest about my feelings, that it’s totally manly to admit that I’m sad or angry or whatever, but you just totally dismiss your own feelings, like, all the time. I know how you feel about hospitals, trust me, I freaking know. So don’t.”

“I know you know,” Daichi whispered, staring down at the table. “Sorry.”

Tanaka reach across the table to pat Daichi’s shoulder. “It’s cool, man. Just, don’t be a hero, alright?”

“Yeah yeah,” Daichi waved him off. “But really, it’s just a quick in and out, I’ll be meeting with the hospital administrator, and she knows I’m coming, so she’ll probably have everything ready for me.”

“You sure? I can have someone cover my shift if you want me to come.”

“No, don’t take off work, I’ll be fine. Plus, I’m helping Asahi out with a new group the night before, so he’ll be there if I’m getting anxious.”

“Good, ‘cuz if we’re being honest I’ve had enough of hospitals for the next million lifetimes,” Tanaka said as he leaned back in his chair. “Asahi. That name sounds super familiar.”

“Is it because he’s my friend and I mention him all the time?” Daichi asked with a laugh. “Or that I keep telling you that you should go see him?”

Tanaka rolled his eyes. “No, that’s not it.” He pressed his fingers to his temples and groaned before slamming his hands down on the table in defeat. “Ugh! Forget it.”

They gathered up their trash and left the shopping center and headed back to the store. Daichi adjusted the scarf around his neck. “How about your week? You met your sponsor, right?”

“Yup,” Tanaka said, popping the ‘p.’ “My sponsor is the coolest dude ever, like the actual coolest dude. Hey,” Tanaka said loudly, like something just occurred to him, “He’s super gay, too! Maybe you guys know each other!” 

Daichi actually laughed aloud. “That’s not how it works.”

“I know, but still. Nishinoya Yuu, that’s his name.”

“Alright, got it. Next time I’m at a convention, I’ll make sure to look him up,” Daichi teased.

“Whatever,” Tanaka huffed. “Still, he’s super cool. And super dedicated, like, amazing. He’s been sober for three years now.” He reached into his pants pocket and left his hand there, a subconscious movement that Daichi recognized. Tanaka clasped his fingers around his own chip, six months. 

Daichi reached out to grab Tanaka’s arm, stopping them in the middle of the street. “That’s awesome, Tanaka. Seriously, I’m proud of you.”

“Geez,” Tanaka said, burying his head into his scarf. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Daichi.”

Still holding onto his arm, he kicked Tanaka lightly and Tanaka yanked his arm to get away, which caused Daichi to flail his arms to keep his balance. His scarf loosened around his neck and a blast of cold air hit the exposed skin under the collar that Daichi had unbuttoned during lunch. It only took Daichi a split-second to realize that his skin had caught Tanaka’s eye.

Tanaka squinted, then shook his head. “That’s quite the hickey, captain.”

“Shit,” Daichi muttered. He buttoned up his collar as quickly as he could and pulled his scarf tightly around his neck, tucking the ends securely into his jacket. 

“A guy’s got needs, I get it,” Tanaka held his hands up. “Good one though?”

“Yeah,” Daichi nodded. “At least I think so. This was only our second time… hanging out.”

Daichi could almost see the cogs turning in Tanaka’s brain. They didn’t talk much about Daichi’s social life, not because Tanaka couldn’t handle it, but because Daichi was afraid of hearing the words come out of his own mouth. That, and he didn’t want to bring up how often he sat at the bar himself. 

“As long as you’re being safe!” Tanaka teased. Suddenly, his entire face transformed as if it were an actual light bulb receiving the signal to shine. “Hey!”

Instinctively, Daichi wrinkled his face, sure that he wouldn’t like whatever he was about to hear. 

“You should ask him to your party!”

Daichi wasn’t sure how he felt about hanging out with Kuroo at an alcohol-free event, or about integrating the man further into his life. He didn’t want that pressure, looming like something in the distance that you couldn’t quite make out but gave off enough negative energy that you knew to steer clear. 

However, Tanaka was dancing on the balls of his feet, looking at him like a puppy that had been promised a treat. Daichi crumbled. “I’ll ask him.”

Tanaka brought his fist down in victory. “Yes! And tell him to invite friends! Oh, and invite your fancy lawyer bros!”

“Alright,” Daichi said pushed him in the direction of the store, which towered in front of them. “Just get back to work.”

“Will do,” he saluted. “Later!” 

Tanaka looked over his shoulder with a wink as he pushed through the glass doors and Daichi lowered his chin in acknowledgement. 

On the ride back to Garden Place, Daichi tapped mindlessly through the news on his phone and thought about Tanaka’s request to invite Kuroo.

The first time he met Kuroo, Daichi had been sitting at the bar, trying to catch the eyes of a different guy with hair that somehow shimmered like mercury under the lights, when Kuroo had brushed up against him and sat down. Daichi had blinked at him a few times, wondering if Kuroo was even real. The guy was tall, dark, and handsome, with a grin that could go through steel, like someone had cut him out of a magazine and pasted him on to thin air. Maybe not his type, but objectively good-looking and interested, both of which were good enough for his current state.

The bar was hosting some sort of event and the music was at full volume, so Daichi couldn’t hear anything and, even if he had, he had been too drunk to do anything other than nod at whatever Kuroo said. Kuroo shimmied their stools closer, just until their thighs touched under the bar counter.

He couldn’t remember exactly what they had talked about that first time, and he didn’t remember what they had talked about the night before, and the pattern didn’t sit right with him. But that was an issue he could deal with another time (or never) and, for the time being, he had two promises to keep and procrastinating would only make it worse. 

Daichi opened up a new message and texted Kuroo about his upcoming birthday bash.

>[Kuroo]: Can’t say no to a birthday party ;)

>[Kuroo]: When’s the blessed day? Black Cat? Seems to be a favorite of yours :3

Daichi sucked on the inside of his cheek. Kuroo wasn’t wrong, but bars were not an option and he had the sinking feeling that Tanaka would have something more elaborate in mind. 

>[Daichi]: This weekend. Not at the bar, friend who’s planning it doesn’t drink. Probably at some new maid café. Will let you know the details when I have them.

>[Kuroo]: Haven’t been to one of those in ages. How old is this friend??

>[Daichi]: Old enough. I hear you, but he loves them. And you can bring friends, if you want.

He held his breath until Kuroo’s excited affirmative came and slipped his phone into his coat pocket, feeling like he had done enough for the day. Daichi closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the vibrating walls of the train, and let go of the breath he had been holding as a long, emptying sigh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daichi sees a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can i get uhhhh, THANK YOU to everyone who commented on ch 1. i am forever in your debt. call any time to cash in. 
> 
> also, i changed the title and love this one. sticking with it. sorry to do that to you all and also it's definitely NOT from a Nick Jonas song that i definitely do NOT binge all the damn time. 
> 
> this chapter is pretty tame re: warnings. there's a lot of talk of losing loved ones, grieving, death, some cancer, and panic-type issues.

Daichi felt his phone buzz a few times on the train, but left the messages unread, choosing instead to keep his eyes closed and ignore the sharp jabs to the back of this head as he rested it against the side of the train. 

He’d just made the promise to invite his coworkers to his birthday that weekend, but he was already regretting it. They were good people, but his co-workers weren’t actually his friends, and the invitation might come off as awkward, or worse, annoying. 

Thinking of Tanaka, he reminded himself that asking Kuroo hadn’t been that big of a deal, but he still paused in the hallway, right in front of the door to the office. 

They were good people and, truthfully, he wouldn’t mind spending time with them outside of work, but he couldn’t help wonder if blurring the line between friend and coworker would be worth the effort. He woke up every morning just wanting to keep his head down and get through the day. Having friends at work might make that difficult. 

When Daichi finally opened the door to the office, everyone was back from their own break, seated in their respective areas and typing dutifully, or talking quietly into their phones. Only Washio, closest to the door, raised his eyes and acknowledged Daichi as he stepped inside. 

He weighed his options as he slipped his arms out of his coat. He could interrupt everyone right then and there by making an announcement, which would be quick and effective, but the idea left a sour taste in his mouth, strong enough to make him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Bokuto might’ve been able to pull off that sort of thing, opening his mouth whenever he saw fit, but Daichi couldn’t.

On the other hand, he could simply drop the birthday invitation casually into conversation throughout the rest of the week and hope that his co-workers got the message and invited themselves along. The idea was alluring, but it would mean mentioning his own birthday over and over again and the thought made his head hurt. 

When staring at the coat rack for answers yielded nothing, Daichi plopped down at his desk and rested his chin on his knuckles. In the back of his mind, he heard Suga scoff and pictured the accompanying face, a thick eyebrow raised high on his forehead and mouth pinched to the side. 

_Suck it up and do it already, Daichi._

He smiled into his hand as he booted up the office email program. 

_Just for you._

Not even ten seconds after he pressed “send,” Bokuto appeared out of nowhere and settled himself in the dead center of the room. 

“Sawamura! It’s your birthday this weekend?”

Every pair of eyes in the office flitted between their boss and Daichi. 

“Yes,” Daichi answered mechanically, making a point not to met any of the curious glances thrown his way. 

Akaashi poked his head out of the room next to Bokuto’s office. “Bokuto-san, you knew that already from the tax documents.”

Bokuto pouted for a split-second. “That’s true, but knowing it’s someone’s birthday and being invited to a party are two totally different things!”

Akaashi shrugged, surrendering to Bokuto’s logic without issue. 

“And we’re all going!”

Daichi raised his hands, the way Asahi did when he felt like he was being attacked. He tried not to think about the gesture, just like tried not to think about everyone staring at him. “It’s okay if you guys can’t go,” he said.

Konoha blew air out from between his lips and, just as Daichi figured he’d have to deal with them making fun of him for inviting them to a party like they were in primary school, he said that he’d go. 

When Daichi raised his eyes, everyone was nodding along with Konoha. Onaga eyed him from over his computer. “Thanks for inviting us, Sawamura.”

“Do you need an official head count or what?” Komi asked. 

“Actually, I’m not sure,” Daichi answered honestly. He hadn’t considered the possibility that they’d want to go, and made a quick mental note to badger Tanaka about his plans. “I’ll let you guys know as soon as I do.”

Komi grinned. “Sweet!”

Sarukui pursed his lips in thought. “Can we bring a plus one?”

“What?!” 

Bokuto’s eyes widened as everyone erupted in chatter and Daichi used the distraction to process what had just happened. He still didn’t like the idea of a giant birthday gathering, but he had to admit, at least to himself, that he was relieved, and, as soon as he left the office, he texted Tanaka to set up their plans for Saturday. 

His fingers hovered briefly over Suga’s name, still in his contacts, before he slipped his phone into his pocket and headed home.

  
  


The rest of the week passed quickly and quietly, a blur of work, arguing with Tanaka over the latest university volleyball matches, reassuring Asahi that he would still attend group later in the week, and filling Kuroo and his coworkers in his birthday plans. 

On Thursday afternoon, the alarm on Daichi’s phone buzzed with Asahi’s name and he pulled his attention away from yet another one of Akaashi’s meticulously worded briefs with a sigh of relief. He had to leave a little earlier if he wanted to make the train that took him straight to the community center where Asahi would be running his meeting that night, so he shot a quick text to Bokuto before packing the brief and his laptop and slipping on his winter layers.

Daichi picked his way through the crowd on the lower levels of Garden Place with phone in hand, just about to text Asahi when he collided with the man himself. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Daichi asked as he picked up his phone, unable to keep an irritated growl from finishing the thought.

“Shopping?”

Daichi glared at him, and they stood in silence until Asahi caved. “I wanted to make sure you could find the new building tonight. I know I gave you the address, and it’s right by the restaurant you like, and you have a phone with maps, but I thought it still might be confusing, and I wanted to make sure you got there. On time.”

Asahi used his hands as he rambled, which wasn’t unusual, but Asahi took it a step further and watched his hands move like they were the ones leading the story, giving him clues as to how he should proceed. 

It was painful to watch, so Daichi put him out of his misery. “That’s such bullshit.”

Asahi screwed up his face in defeat. “I was just really nervous about the new location and thought I’d be less nervous if we went together,” he said in one breath, and then added, “sorry,” in a hushed whisper.

Azumane Asahi was a one-of-a-kind walking contradiction. He towered over everyone and insisted that he wear his thick, wavy hair long, like some sort of delinquent teenager. If his hair wasn’t secured, it hung over his face and cast dark shadows that you usually only saw on movie villains. His default facial expression was serious and made his eyes hard, and the more nervous he got, the more daunting he appeared. People steered clear of him when he walked, and one time someone had even screamed when he patted them on the shoulder to let them know that they had dropped their umbrella. 

All of it was hilarious, of course, because Daichi had never met anyone with with more anxiety-induced intestinal issues or a more fragile heart. 

“Don’t apologize, just give me some notice next time. I’d prefer not to be knocked flat on my ass in the middle of a crowd right outside my office”

Asahi wrung his hands together and nodded in understanding. At least he was smiling, Daichi thought. 

“You want dinner before the group starts?” 

He covered his mouth with a hand and Daichi could’ve sworn Asahi’s face went green. “Oh god, sorry, I don’t think I could eat.”

Daichi shook his head and clapped Asahi on the back, guiding him in the direction of the train station while he clutched his stomach.

On the train, they headed north, away from the skyscrapers, commuters, flashing screens and giant advertisements, into the smaller, residential portions of Tokyo. Daichi strained his shoulder to hang onto the rail and quelled his ugly jealousy of Asahi, who was tall enough to simply lean on the bar. 

“So let me get this straight,” Daichi said, trying to pull both himself and Asahi out their heads, “you have a college degree, years of experience, you’ve been running groups on your own for almost a full year, and I’m going to be there to cover the awkward pauses, but you’re still too nervous to eat hours before the group starts?”

Asahi tucked his face into his scarf and muttered, just barely audible through the layers of wool. “I know. I’m a disaster.”

“Maybe,” Daichi said with a shrug, but the pained expression on Asahi’s face made him backtrack. “But that wasn’t what I was trying to say. I mean, who isn’t?” He eyed Asahi’s furrowed brow and could tell he was still pouting underneath his scarf. The irony of the situation made him snort, and he nudged Asahi in the ribs. “You’re the one that’s supposed to be comforting me tonight, you know.”

His words seemed to force Asahi out of whatever mental slump he had forced down his own throat, because he straightened his back and met Daichi’s eyes with the kind of gaze that made you feel like you were home, even if you didn’t understand where or what that meant. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Daichi.”

Daichi elbowed him again, lighter this time. “Don’t apologize. It was a low blow.”

“But you’re right,” Asahi said, and Daichi was surprised by the authoritative tone of his voice. He almost regretted flipping the switch that turned his friend from a bumbling ball of nerves into a trained counselor. “And I’m sorry I didn’t ask, but do you need to eat before we get there? We could go to the place you like, but I can definitely find somewhere else if you’re not in the mood for ramen.” He made a motion to grab his phone from his pants pocket, but Daichi reached out to stop his hand.

“I’m good.”

“You sure?” 

Daichi tried to remember what he had eaten that day, and realized that the only food he’d had that day was a meat bun from the combini across the street from his apartment. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replied anyway. “Are you sure you’re good?”

Asahi had a thought on the tip of his tongue, but the announcement of their stop interrupted the conversation and they walked in silence to the community center. It didn’t appear much different than any of the other buildings Asahi had used before, but Asahi shivered at the new site and Daichi didn’t think it was because of the cold. 

While Asahi had a staring contest with the ugly, concrete building, Daichi observed their surroundings. The neighborhood was quiet, like he had remembered from the last time they had gotten dinner around there, and most of the other buildings showed a good amount of wear, graffiti on the walls and crumbling plaster. It wasn’t the nicest neighborhood, but, as Asahi had put it, beggars couldn’t be choosers. There weren’t many places that willingly gave up space so that a timid grief counselor could hold free group therapy for bereaved members of the gay community. 

Asahi insisted on going inside to set things up before everyone got there, eschewing Daichi’s offers to help, and Daichi knew better than to fight it. He reminded Asahi that he was just a text message away and, when the door closed behind Asahi, he leaned his back against the wall, closed his eyes, tried to ignore the flickering lights of the entryway. 

He stayed there, against the wall, for a full five minutes before realizing that there was someone next to him. 

The woman next to him was short, at least a full head below his own, and she was bundled up in what Daichi assumed was at least three winter coats. Her blonde bob stuck out under a giant knit hat, the various shades of purple illuminated periodically by the awful seizure-inducing lights. She fiddled with a thin bracelet around her wrists with, to Daichi’s horror, bare fingers. 

She was close enough that if Daichi pulled his hands out of his pockets, he would’ve been able to touch her. 

“The door to the building is open,” Daichi said, as carefully and as casually as he could. She jumped anyway and gaped at him with wide eyes, like she was surprised Daichi could see her. The fingers that were fidgeting with the bracelet stilled. Daichi eyed her bare fingers. “If you’re waiting to go inside, you don’t have to. It’s cold out here.”

She put her hands in her pockets, and Daichi masked his sigh of relief. “But,” she stuttered, “but you’re still out here, even though the door’s open?”

Daichi chuckled. She was obviously nervous, but she called him out anyway. “I’m just waiting a bit before going inside.”

“Then I’ll wait out here, with, with you.” Her voice caught the same way Asahi’s did when he was anxious.

He wasn’t sure what do to make her less nervous, so he just started talking, and hoped that would help. “I’ll be going into the building soon, when my group starts.” He peeked down at his phone screen to check the time. “Ten minutes or so.”

She perked up. “Ten minutes? Are you going to the group with Asahi-san?”

“That’s the one,” he said with a smile. 

She smiled back, and Daichi could tell her fingers were moving in her pockets. “M-me too,” she squeaked. 

“I’m sorry,” Daichi said quietly. He was a little sorry for startling her, and perhaps inadvertently making her nervous, but he was mostly sorry for the reason she would be attending Asahi’s group. He was so deeply, utterly sorry. 

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry, too. For you.”

“I appreciate it.” 

They fell into the awkward silence that always occurred as soon as he mentioned his dead partner, and he realized with sad relief that the woman next to him was uniquely (and unfortunately) qualified to understand. “That moment is always so awkward, you know, when you mention that you lost your partner. Most people don’t know what to do with it,” Daichi said aloud, more to fill the silence and less to continue the conversation. He thought briefly of Kuroo, who had just taken it at face value and hadn’t pushed it and how grateful he had been. 

The woman next to him laughed, her mouth hidden by her giant scarf. “It’s true,” she said. “I’m, um,” she took a breath. “I’m Yachi, by the way.”

“Sawamura.” He bowed slightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Yachi-san.”

“N-nice to meet you, too.” The small smile faded from her face and her lips pressed in a thin line. Her eyes darted to the side, like she was checking to make sure no one else was around. When she spoke again, her voice was almost too quiet to hear. “Mei.”

Daichi bent forward just enough to try to catch her voice. “I’m sorry, Yachi, I missed what you just said.”

“Her name is Mei,” Yachi said, only slightly louder. “She died five years ago, well, five years, ten months, and eight days ago. Um, cancer. She was in remission for years, but…”

Instinctively, Daichi reached out a hand to put on her shoulder, but she was so closed off that he stopped, hand raised mid-air. He let it fall to his side while Yachi took steady, measured breaths.

“Things took a turn for the worse out of nowhere.” Yachi shook her head in disbelief, like she was hearing it for the first time. “Like, all of a sudden, the cancer was terminal and she died three days later.” 

“Suga,” Daichi said in response, relishing the sound of his name as it hit his ears. “Two years, five months, and nineteen days. He died two days before his 35th birthday from a respiratory infection.” 

He didn’t know why he always added the detail about Suga’s birthday, like that was the only thing that made his death unfair. Daichi felt a hand on his arm and he made the mistake of meeting Yachi’s eyes, now shining with tears. He reached over with his other hand to put it on top of hers. Her skin felt like ice. She didn’t pull away. 

“Sawamura-san, I’m so sorry,” she said, blinking back the tears that had gathered. Her outpouring of emotion unsettled Daichi. He felt his own grief bubbling to surface, slipping seamlessly through the barriers he spent so much energy maintaining. It might’ve been Yachi’s presence, or maybe it had something to do with how it was so close to his own birthday, the date that marked a new year and another year without Suga, but his foundation began to shake. 

“I never really thought about death before Suga died,” Daichi said, aware that he was about to ramble but not caring to censor himself. “Logically, I knew it would happen, but it seemed impossible. I figured we had all the time in the world that, Suga would finally see my hair turn gray.” Daichi stopped, catching himself before his voice broke. “I never thought that a healthy man in the prime of his life could be taken down without any sort of...” 

“Warning,” Yachi whispered.

Suddenly, Daichi was back in Sendai, two and a half years earlier. He sat at his desk, the surface cluttered with picture frames, stupid notepads that Suga snuck into his briefcase, and clay pots of dry soil that served as grim reminders of his neglect. He wiped sweat from his brow, having spent his lunch break in the courtyard of the small house that his firm had converted into offices a few years before. The sun was particularly brutal that day in June, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to protect him. 

He didn’t hear his phone ring the first time because it was tucked into his suit jacket pocket, hung neatly on the back of his chair.

He wasn’t able to pick it up the second time because he was rushing out of the office, late for his meeting at the courthouse. His phone rung a third and fourth time while he shuffled papers in front of a gaggle of faceless attorneys. 

The fifth time the phone rang, he pulled his car over to answer it, irritated by the repeat calls from the unknown number and more than ready to give the person on the other end of the line a taste of his frustration. 

He identified himself with an angry grunt, but the voice on the other end of the line was steady, suspiciously devoid of emotion. 

_We’re calling because you are listed as Sugawara Koushi’s emergency contact._

_He was admitted earlier today and his condition has taken a turn for the worse._

_Please come to the hospital at your earliest convenience._

Daichi couldn’t remember how long he sat in the car, or when he got to the hospital, and the memories came back to him like blurry negatives, the conversations like snippets from a damaged black box.

A small hand squeezed his arm, and Daichi was hurtled forward in time, back to Tokyo, standing next to a woman he just met in front of a nondescript concrete building. For the first time that winter, Daichi was grateful for the shock of the frigid Tokyo air. He shook his head and began to apologize, but Yachi waved her hands in the air. 

“It-it’s okay. I understand,” she said, and pointed to the people that maneuvered around them and entered the building. “But I, um, I think it’s time to go in?”

Daichi checked the time on his phone, silently registering the minutes he let slip away. “Right, of course.”

“I used to dream about her,” Yachi said thoughtfully, almost to herself, as they walked through the doors together. “They started happening, I mean the dreams did, after she died. It was like I was watching her, or she was watching me, I don’t know. It’s crazy but in the dreams it felt like she was with me again. I almost never wanted to wake up,” Yachi said with a quiet laugh. “Silly, right, the things our brains do?”

Yachi was right, that the mind twisted and turned and jumped and dove as it navigated the grieving process. It wasn’t unusual for people to dream of loved ones that had passed, and Daichi ignored the part of his brain that screamed for him to say something about his own dreams. He kept his reply vague, hoping the bitterness he felt didn’t leak into the words, that they would serve as a comfort to Yachi rather than a reproach to the unforgiving nature of loss. 

“I don’t know if I’d describe those dreams as silly,” he said with a strained smile. “I’ve been told that it’s normal to dream about the ones you’ve lost.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Me too. Though I think people ended up getting tired of me talking about it, or maybe they thought I was crazy.” 

Daichi understood, and he was about to tell her as such when his train of thought snagged on the way Yachi said she _used_ to dream about Mei. He read that his dreams would eventually evolve, or stop altogether, so it made sense that Yachi’s would stop as well, but the screaming in his head got louder, and he couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter anymore. “Sorry if this is too personal,” he said, “but you used to have dreams about her? Does that mean they’ve stopped?”

“Yes,” Yachi sighed. She let her chin fall to her chest and stared at the ground. “It sounds stupid now, but when I woke up after the first night I didn’t dream about Mei, it felt like I had lost her all over again.”

Sooner than Daichi would’ve like, they were at the door to Asahi’s reserved room. There was a small paper sign taped to the smooth, wooden surface, and it flapped with filtered bursts of stale, warm air. Daichi watched it flutter instead of looking at Yachi, hoping to distract himself from the guilt he felt as he trespassed on her emotions. “Do you remember when they stopped?” 

“Now that you mention it, I think it was right around two and a half years ago.” 

The timing had to be a coincidence, but Daichi was helpless to stop himself as he made connections where he knew he shouldn’t. The way in which Yachi described her dreams sounded just like his, and the timing of Suga’s death coincided with the disappearance of Yachi’s dreams. It couldn’t mean anything, he knew that, so why was he nauseous? 

A hand came down on Daichi’s shoulder, startling him, and Yachi yelped in surprise.

“Hey,” Asahi greeted, a coffee in one hand and the other still resting on Daichi’s shoulder. 

“Jesus Asahi,” Daichi spit. “Can’t you do something about creeping up on people with that face?”

Asahi frowned. His shoulders caved and and his hair fell into his eyes. “What face?”

“Your normal one!”

“I, uh, this is just my face?”

Daichi rolled his eyes and laughed, even though there was a fist-sized knot in his throat. “I’m just giving you a hard time, but maybe try pulling your hair back for these meetings. You don’t want to scare the crap out of us.”

“Oh, um, okay, good advice?” Daichi could tell that Asahi wanted to change the subject as soon as possible, and Asahi addressed Yachi, who looked between them with mild horror. He tucked his hair behind his ears and his smile was broad and inviting. “Oh, Yachi, it’s been awhile. How are you tonight?”

At the sound of her name, Yachi’s entire body went rigid. “Fine!”

Asahi’s eyes softened, and some of tension left Yachi’s shoulders, but not all of it. 

“Nice place,” Daichi joked, trying to lighten the moment. 

“It’s no Buckingham Palace,” Asahi said bashfully, making Yachi chuckle. He peeked into the room before checking the time on phone. “Um, it’s about that time, I think.”

“You’re the boss,” Daichi said, motioning for Yachi to enter first. She nodded once at Daichi and took the opportunity to rush into the room and, with short, quick steps, stole an empty chair all the all the way in the back of the clustered seats. Asahi, however, had to be pushed into the room. 

The space was small, but even so the group only filled about a quarter of the room. A light flickered in the corner of the room, just like outside the door, and it lit up the corporate gray carpet before fizzling out and crackling back to life. Asahi gathered the few people milling around the snack table and ushered them to the seats, opening the meeting from the seat right next to Daichi. 

While Asahi introduced himself, thanked everyone for coming and gave his usual introductory speech, Daichi thought about Yachi. Asahi had been surprised to see her, and Daichi’s mind made another dangerous leap as he considered the chances of the two of them coming to the exact same group on the same night. He glanced across the room, hoping to get her attention, but she had her eyes firmly planted on carpet between her feet. 

The more he thought about their brief interaction, the more he burned to ask her questions. 

Had she tried to reach out to Mei? Did the dreams wake her up? Could she sense Mei in front of her the way he sensed Suga? Could she smell Mei’s skin, the chapstick on her lips, or feel the warmth of her skin? Were the similarities any more than just coincidence? 

Why did her dreams stop?

If Suga were in his place, he’d know the right questions to ask and which instincts to trust. He’d know how to broach the subject, how to talk to Yachi and ease her pain all at once. 

If Suga were in his place, none of it would matter, but the thought of Suga dreaming of him, of waking up empty every morning, of going through the motions with nothing except the promise of sleep made his stomach twist. There weren’t any fair options anymore, for him or for anyone else in the room. 

The back of his neck prickled with the feeling of being watched and, sure enough, Asahi was staring pointedly in his direction. 

He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, I’d like to open up the group, though I know that it can be intimidating. Is there anyone who wants to help us get started?”

That was Daichi’s cue. 

“I’ll start,” Daichi said and, when Asahi thanked him with sparkling eyes, he addressed the rest of the group and prepared his usual message. 

“My name’s Sawamura Daichi.”

The people in the room stared back at him with red eyes, dark circles hung beneath them. Some of them held hands. Others stared straight ahead, or at their feet. Some said his name back to him in greeting. Others nodded only to themselves. 

“I lost my partner two and a half years ago. Well, two years, five months, and nineteen days. Not that I’m counting,” he said with a subdued laugh. The joke might’ve been crass had it been another crowd, but he saw some smiles crack with understanding. “He went into work one morning and, by the afternoon, he was gone.”

“The funeral and wake came and went somehow, I don’t remember much of it, but one of his, well, our, friends took it really hard.” Daichi’s hands were on his knees, palms up. Empty. “I had to be there for him, I wanted to be there, but it meant I never had time to process my own grief.”

He paused, squeezing his knuckles until they were white. Despite having given this speech at least a dozen times before, his mind strayed and, tor the first time in a long time, he went off-script. 

“It’s just, I hate that I have to wake up every day without him and that I only get to see him when I dream. I hate that I have to look his best friend square in the eye and do my damnedest to pretend that I’m coming to terms with losing the only person I’ve ever loved so that maybe he will too. Suga was the strong one,” he said, fighting back tears. “Not me. It was never me.”

Usually, Daichi ended on an upbeat note so that Asahi could take the meeting back at a high point, but he couldn’t, not that night.

He felt Asahi’s steadying hand on his shoulder, and Daichi leaned into the touch, hoping to communicate to Asahi that he was done and that he was sorry for letting the moment get the better of him. Asahi squeezed his shoulder, like he knew exactly what Daichi was trying to say and that he understood. For all the shit Daichi gave the guy, he trusted him. 

Daichi only half-listened as people began to open up and tried to catch Yachi’s eye, but she never surfaced from her inspection of the carpet and she never said a word. As soon as Asahi wrapped up the session, Yachi was the first one out of the room. 

Without any regard for Asahi or the others, Daichi got up and followed her out of the building. He found her by the curb, facing the road and scanning it for cars. 

“Hey,” he said, slightly out of breath. 

She wasn’t startled by Daichi’s greeting, but she did cock her head. “Um, Daichi? Hi?”

He struggled only a moment for the right words before giving up in favor of just saying what he meant and crossing his fingers that he wouldn’t regret it. “I have dreams of him, too. Of Suga.”

She scrunched up her face, but Daichi could tell she was curious by the way her eyes darted over his face. “Oh? I mean, I know you mentioned it, in group just now, not to sound creepy!” she said hurriedly. “But dreams are normal, right? We were just talk, um, talking about that?”

Daichi shook his head, frustrated by his lack of tact. “Right, we did, but I wanted to tell you that in my dreams Suga feels real, just like you said Mei did in yours.”

He met her gaze, afraid that he might’ve upset her, but she just stared back at him with an unreadable expression. “Really?”

“Really. And I’m sorry if this insensitive and totally out of line but, from what you told me, your dreams stopped right around the time that Suga died.” Daichi took a deep breath. “And I can’t help thinking it’s not a coincidence.”

Yachi shuffled her feet against the concrete. “Maybe? I don’t know. I’m sorry,” she said quietly. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Daichi said softly, feeling guilty. He took a step back to give Yachi her space. “I’m the one who should be sorry for bringing it up. It’s a crazy thought. The silly things our brains do,” he said, using her words from before the group started.

A car pulled up to them on the curb while Daichi was apologizing, and a stern young man glared daggers at Daichi as he rolled down the car window. “Yacchan, is this guy bothering you?”

Yachi thrust herself between them with more force than necessary. “No! Not at all. We were just in group together. Can I have a second? Is that okay? Do you have time?”

He sized Daichi up and grunted in the affirmative, but he kept his eyes on Daichi as he rolled up the window. Daichi wasn’t easily swayed by physical intimidation, but he could see how the guy’s scowl might make more than a few people cower. He tore his eyes away from Yachi’s grumpy friend when she thrust a business card into his hand. 

“It’s not my card, but I sort of work at this store? Not _work there_ work there like the guys do, but I make posters and run their social media, so that’s kind of like work, oh!” She cut herself off when Daichi took the card, like she was surprised he actually took it. “Anyway! I’m there a lot, and if I’m not there, one the guys will be and they can let me know, I’ll make sure to tell them you might call for me,” she tittered, nerves alight. “It’s nice to know there’s someone else who understands.”

“It is,” Daichi said. “Thank you.”

She smiled and waved back at him over her shoulder as she hopped in front of the car and got in the passenger seat. While they drove away, Daichi examined the card. It was jet black with orange writing, and each character was stylistically sloppy, like someone had hand-painted them on the card. He ran his fingers over the glossy, raised ink.

Raven’s Healing

He had never heard of the place, but the address was in a mall that he thought he recognized, not too far from Tanaka’s shop. It was impossible to tell what they sold from the card itself, or the name, but there was a website, which, unfortunately, he would have to wait to browse until Asahi relieved him of duty.

Reluctantly, he pocketed the card and took one last look down the road before heading back into the building. 

Daichi doubled his steps to get back to the room as quickly as he could, afraid that Asahi might be having some sort of post-group breakdown and ready to apologize for leaving so abruptly, but, when he swung open the door, he was surprised to find Asahi much more pleasantly engaged.

A guy, standing as tall as he could on the tips of his toes, had both of his arms around Asahi’s neck and hung off of him like Asahi was the low branch of a tree. The sound of their lips smacking masked Daichi’s entrance, so he took a few steps back from the door and cleared his throat before approaching the second time. 

“Looks like you don’t need my help with clean up after all,” Daichi said with mock severity. 

Asahi’s eyes practically bugged out of his face as they pulled apart. “No, no!” he said, moving his arms around the smaller guy, making it look like the guy’s arms were on backwards and three sizes too big for his body. “Sorry! No, I definitely could use your help! If you wanted to!”

While Asahi apologized, the other had detached himself from Asahi’s neck and marched right up to Daichi with brash confidence that reminded him of Tanaka. 

“Daichi-san! Nice to meet you!” 

Daichi bristled at the use of his given name, but the irritation wasn’t nearly as strong as his desire to grill the man who had just been kissing his friend. “Nice to meet you too…” 

“Nishinoya Yuu!” He said loudly, a thumb pressed into his sternum. “My meeting is just down the hall. Pretty great, huh?”

The name rung a bell in the back of Daichi’s mind. “Meeting?”

Nishinoya put his hands on his hips. “Yup, AA my man, three years sober! Even got my first _sponsee_.” He finished the sentence with a bizarre bow, like he was accepting Daichi’s invitation to dance at a Victorian ball, and Daichi laughed despite himself. “I don’t go to many meetings anymore, which is great, but Asahi-san was so close and it can only do me good. Right, Asahi-san?”

Asahi didn’t say anything, but his face still held the blush from their makeout session that Daichi had cut short. 

Daichi eyed Nishinoya, from the toes of his dirty plastic-capped sneakers, to the shorts he wore in the middle of winter, up the piercings in his lips and the gauges in his ears, to blonde streak that started at his widow’s peak and blended into the rest of his hair, styled as tall as it could go and adding at least three inches to the man’s diminutive stature. He repeated Nishinoya’s name and his face lit up with realization. “I’m not sure what the protocol is for this sort of thing,” Daichi admitted, “but do you know a Tanaka Ryuunosuke?”

“Holy shit!” Nishinoya shouted, making the connection as well. He turned to Asahi with wide eyes and tugged harshly on one of his sleeves. “Asahi-san,” he said accusingly, “you never told me this Daichi was THAT Daichi!” 

“Ah,” he said, acknowledging the hand that was still tugging his sleeve. “Sorry, Nishinoya, it hadn’t really occurred to me.” Nishinoya squinted his eyes up at Asahi. “I swear!”

Nishinoya’s demeanor changed and he beamed up at Asahi. “I believe you Asahi-san! This is so awesome!” 

Daichi eyed Asahi. “And it’s just a happy coincidence that your new group meets here?”

“Maybe not entirely,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Aw, Asahi-san,” Nishinoya cooed. He pulled Asahi’s hand into his and Asahi buried his smile behind the hair that fell from where it had been tucked behind his ear. 

“Gag me,” Daichi said with a snort. Nishinoya chuckled with him, which endeared him to Daichi despite his best defenses. “Though I don’t remember Asahi ever mentioning that he had a boyfriend.”

Nishinoya face fell and rose again so quickly that Daichi might’ve missed it if he weren’t paying attention. “That’s okay! We’ve only been dating a month.”

“But it’s been a really good month,” Asahi said.

“Yeah,” Nishinoya agreed. “Best month of my life so far!”

Daichi rolled his eyes but could barely contain his own smile. “Alright, lovebirds, if you guys are just going to make out the entire evening, I might head out and leave you to it. Unless you actually do need my help?”

“I think we can manage folding up the chairs, but did you want dinner? We could walk to ramen.” 

“Yeah, let’s get some grub, I’m starving.” Nishinoya grunted as he rubbed his belly. 

“But you ate all of the cookies that my group left,” Asahi said. “How are you still hungry?”

Nishinoya licked his lips. “I just was helping you clean up! That wasn’t dinner.”

Asahi shook his head, defeated but not unhappy. “Let’s get some dinner then. Daichi? Ramen?”

The offer was tempting, but Daichi answered quickly. “No, I think I’ll just head home.”

Asahi’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t mentioned Daichi’s moment of weakness yet, respecting his privacy in front of Nishinoya, but Daichi could tell that Asahi wanted to talk about it, so he added to his refusal. “Another time, though, definitely. We’ll talk.” 

“Okay,” Asahi frowned. “Is your birthday thing still happening this weekend?” 

“It is,” Daichi said with a sigh. “And you’re invited too, Nishinoya, if you can make it on such short notice.”

“I know,” Nishinoya huffed. “Ryuu already invited me! And Asahi-san will be there, so I’m definitely coming.”

“Right,” Daichi said. Leave it to Tanaka to invite someone he just met to someone else’s birthday gathering, he thought. He wondered just how many people would be there. 

Nishinoya grinned. “And Asahi-san’s birthday is the day after, so it’s good timing. We’ll be indisposed,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“It’s your birthday on the first?” Daichi said, ignoring the way Nishinoya kept winking at him. 

Asahi cringed. “Yeah.”

“And you never told me?” 

“You never really asked, which is okay! I don’t make a big deal out of it usually,” Asahi said. He swallowed hard and refused to look at Nishinoya, who hadn’t pick up on the tension between them and bounced on the balls of his feet. 

Daichi, on the other hand, was mortified, and his shame quickly flared into anger. He gritted his teeth. “Damn it, Asahi, we’re one day apart and you didn’t say anything last year?”

“You had enough on your mind, Daichi,” Asahi said sternly. “And it seems like you still do. Why don’t we schedule a time to talk, maybe next week? We’ll get your ramen then, too.”

Daichi’s anger vanished like Asahi had just waved it away with a wand and his jaw hung open in shock. Asahi’s clinical tone left no room for reproach and his question came as more of a command than a request. His inky dark brown eyes pinned Daichi in place, and he nodded dumbly, entirely at a loss for words. If he had wondered what someone who came off as bold and outgoing as Nishinoya saw in Asahi, he didn’t any longer and he wasn’t entirely sure that their disastrous first date wouldn’t have ended in simple friendship if he had seen this side of Asahi that night. 

“Good,” Asahi said. With one word, his entire demeanor changed. “I’ll text you Monday, but call any time before that if you need me, except Sunday, I guess,” he laughed.

His entire demeanor had changed in an instant and the sharp edge of his voice was gone. Daichi blinked, like he had just fallen out of a trance. “Uh, good,” he said, coughing. “Sure you don’t need any help?” he offered one last time. 

Asahi assured him they didn’t, and Daichi took him at his word, promising to see the both of them in a couple days. 

An hour later, he sat at the counter in his silent apartment, a bowl of packaged noodles untouched and cooling rapidly in front of him. Text messages sat in his inbox, one from Kuroo and a few from Tanaka, waiting for replies, but Daichi was busy navigating the Raven’s Healing website. 

It was impossible to tell whether the website was purposefully opaque or if the layout just didn’t work on his phone, but the longer he scrolled and the more tabs he clicked, the less he understood about what the shop was all about. All he could make out were the hours, so he decided that he would visit the store on Sunday and try to make sense of all of the questions he had for Yachi in the meantime. 

Yachi had lost Mei in her dreams, and Daichi was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to close his eyes that night. He left the full bowl of soggy noodles on the counter without a second thought.

  
  


The following morning, he walked past Garden Place and headed to the city hospital. 

Light snow fell steadily from the sky, dusting his shoulders and the top of his hat. It wasn’t an ideal day for a longer walk, but he couldn’t bear the idea of sitting on the train, trapped in an enclosed space with nowhere to run. His stomach hadn’t stopped churning since he had woken up early that morning. 

The assistant administrator had the files he needed and she knew he was coming. Akaashi had reassured him again over email that morning. It would be a quick trip. In and out.

Daichi held his breath as the receptionist used a clipboard to point in the direction of the administrators’ offices and paged a woman, Shimizu Kiyoko, to let her know that a Sawamura Daichi was on his way. “Just past the nurse’s station,” she added. 

He thanked her and walked with quick, measured paces, eyes focused on the alternating colors of the linoleum floor tiles, until a loud laugh hit him like a familiar punch to the gut. 

He knew that laugh. He used to hear it every morning, on every phone call, over every evening meal, in every hushed conversation under blankets, on every walk through the neighborhood, and after every soufflé pancake, egg, or cut of fish flipped successfully in its pan. 

The second punch to the gut came when he realized that somehow he had forgotten it. 

Daichi ripped his eyes from the floor and searched frantically for the source of the laughter as bile rose in his throat. He clung to every detail of the moment to remind himself that his body was there, and he was alive. The sweat on between his fingers as they gripped the shoulder strap of his bag. The chill that shot through his spine. The tears that beaded in the corners of his eyes when he found the man who had been laughing. 

Suga had grayed prematurely, before Daichi met him, but he’d always insisted it wasn’t gray. It was ash blonde, he claimed, a distinction that hadn’t mattered to Daichi in the slightest but meant to the world to Suga. His silvery hair had swept across the expanse of his skull in a million different directions, no matter how long it was, no matter how it was cut. He was only an inch shorter than Daichi, but his limbs were longer, and he was leaner. If Daichi was solid like the ground like the ground they walked on, Suga was the air they breathed. 

He saw him every time he closed his eyes, but Daichi’s eyes were open, and Suga was there. Every detail was the same, but that man standing at the nurse’s station balancing two overstuffed cardboard coffee trays wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. It never was. 

The first time he thought he saw Suga, just a month after he died, was in the market down the street from their house. He had looked up from the bag of crackers in his hand and Suga was there, shopping in the same aisle. When Suga’s face faded and he realized the man was a stranger, Daichi had dropped his basket and ran out of the store. He couldn’t remember how long he had in the front of seat of his car, sobbing in the parking lot.

He was told that these occurrences would evolve and fade, just like his dreams. The dreams persisted, but he had stopped seeing Suga’s face where it didn’t belong.

But this time, however, Suga’s face didn’t disappear. 

The man, Suga, was swarmed with people reaching for the coffee cups on his trays and he swatted the wandering hands away with practiced ease while he read names off the cups. A tall redhead stood behind Suga and attempted to interrupt the coffee roll call by reaching right over him. Suga whipped around without spilling a single drop. 

“Tendou Satori, you lizard-faced son of a bitch, you still owe me from two weeks ago!” 

“But you always get extras,” he said in a creepy sing-song voice while he twirled his long fingers toward the cups.

Suga pulled them away. “I get extras for people who are busy doing actual work, not losers who don’t pay me, so either suck it up and pay me back or suffer. Makes no difference to me!” He turned back to the gathering of medical professionals and elbowed Tendou hard enough to make him wince. Tendou walked away from the crowded station sulking, holding a hand to his ribcage.

“Alright, who’s left?” Suga read the names on the remaining cups and smiled as he handed them over. “Take one to Ohira-san,” Suga said to a blonde that snatched two cups from his tray. “I think he’s on the third floor today but I know that no one treats anyone to anything up there. Semi?”

The nurse leaning against the other end of the counter looked up from a laptop without changing his facial expression. “No, thank you.”

“Aw,” Suga cooed, “sure I can’t tempt you with a double cappuccino, bone dry?” He waved the cup in front of him and Semi squinted at the cup. Suga was just about to put it back in the tray when he got up and took the paper cup, glaring at Suga the whole time. 

It couldn’t be Suga, logically, reasonably, realistically, but the way the man moved, the way he spoke, the way he poked and prodded and joked made Daichi’s knees tremble. Darkness crept into the corners of his vision and his lungs constricted, making it hard to breathe, so he closed his eyes, counted to five, and opened them.

Suga’s face hadn’t faded.

He counted the number of tiles at his feet. He felt the cheap fabric of his shoulder strap and scratched it with his nails. He took a breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. 

But Suga was still there. 

Daichi forced his eyes shut a second time and counted longer, to ten instead of five. When he opened them, he saw the nurses sipping their coffees, picking up phones, and scratching figures on clipboards. Suga was gone. 

His heart sank, but he didn’t know what else he expected. 

“Hi, are you a visitor? You look lost.” 

Suga had popped up right in front of Daichi and peered up at him with unconcealed curiosity. He was so close that Daichi could see the mole under Suga’s left eye and connect it to the one on his neck, which connected to another that sat right above the collars of his shirt, and would connect to dozens more under the layers of clothing that Daichi didn’t recognize. 

His forehead creased and worry flooded his honey eyes. They were so beautiful, he was so beautiful. The images behind his eyelids, the way he felt Suga in his dreams, they were nothing compared to the man in front of him. How could Daichi have forgotten how radiant Suga was?

Daichi felt fingers around his biceps, felt them hold him steady and firm and soft simultaneously. He didn’t have to reach out this time, because Suga did. 

“Hey now,” he said, accepting some of Daichi’s weight. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” 

Daichi wanted to laugh, or shout, or cry, and he would’ve settled for any reaction other than the tears that burned tracks down his cheeks. 

“Whoa, you okay? Stay with me,” Suga said, alarmed. He looked over his shoulder, then back at Daichi. “Do you need me to call a nurse? There are some good ones thrown in there and even the assholes maintain some semblance of professionalism. Enough to do their jobs, at least.” 

Daichi moved his lips, but nothing came out. He perceived someone approach from behind before he actually registered the person’s movements because the air around them suddenly felt like fingernails digging into his flesh and ripping it open.

“It’s just like you to pick up lost puppies wherever you go,” the new voice said, deep and saccharine. 

Suga scoffed over Daichi’s shoulder, at the person who just spoke, and held Daichi tight. “I’m not going to ignore someone that might need help.”

Daichi didn’t turn, partly because he wasn’t comfortable with the weird aura the person was exuding but mostly because he was afraid that if he looked away from Suga for even a second, he would disappear again. He silently pleaded for Suga not to let him go. 

“I suppose you have a point,” the person conceded, though he sounded unhappy. “But we do have an appointment, and you know I’m a busy man.” 

When Suga’s hands slipped from his arms, Daichi was cold, not like one would be in a snowstorm without coat, but cold like everything he loved was slipping through his fingers like sand. 

“No, wait.”

Suga cocked his head and looked at Daichi with a concerned half-smile. “Sorry, Tooru might be a jerk, but he’s right. If you need something, just call on one of the bozos at the nurse’s station. They’ll help you.” He bit the bottom of his lip, then leaned in closer to whisper. “Except stay away from Tendou. That guy’s a pain in the ass.”

The figure behind them clicked his tongue against his teeth and Suga took a step back. “Yeah, yeah,” he said with a wave, like he was erasing the words from the air. “I’ll be there in a minute, just a sec. I have to get our coffees.” 

Suga reached back to the nurse’s station and grabbed a tray with three coffees on it. He took one out and, when Daichi didn’t take it, took Daichi’s hand and wrapped it around the cup. “If you like coffee, take this one. I always order an extra one, even when I don’t remember doing it, and you look like you need it. Take care of yourself, okay?”

Suga let go of his hand and appraised Daichi’s face one last time. Daichi forced himself to turn as Suga brushed past him. 

“No,” he tried to say as he followed Suga, but the man that had been behind him blocked his path. Daichi didn’t look at the guy’s face, concentrating only Suga’s back as he retreated down the hall. 

“That man is very sick, so I suggest that you stop now and let him go. Taking advantage of him wouldn’t reflect well on you, would it?” 

His smile was predatory, his question carefully worded to guide Daichi’s answer. If Daichi had been in his right mind, it might’ve stopped him, but he wasn’t. The words were difficult and slow to form. “I’m sorry, he’s my,” Daichi swallowed the word, something telling him to hold back that information. “I know him. I need to talk to him.”

“I’m sorry?” the man said as he brought a hand to his chest in mock offense. “The only thing you _need_ to do is leave him alone. Now, do I need to call hospital security or are you going to scuttle down the hall to the administrator’s office? You wouldn’t want to keep Shimizu-san waiting.”

Daichi didn’t move, and the man hummed in delight. “That’s what I thought. Ta-ta, Sawamura-san,” he said over his shoulder as he turned to walk away. 

The morning had been so surreal that Daichi didn’t question how the man knew his name, or where he was going. All he knew was that Suga was just down the hall, and he took a step forward only to be stopped again. 

“Excuse me, Sawamura-san?”

A woman addressed him by name and Daichi was momentarily struck by how pretty she was, blue eyes like the ocean, a beauty mark on her chin, and hair as dark as the night, somehow more beautiful with the hideous overhead lights reflecting off the strands.

“Yes?” He said, clearing his throat. 

She bowed slightly. “Shimizu Kiyoko, Assistant Hospital Administrator. I believe we have an appointment? The receptionist let me know you were coming, but you never arrived and I’m afraid I took matters into my own hands.”

“Yes, that’s me,” he bowed back. “I apologize, I was just… distracted.”

She nodded once, business-like and professional, and walked in the opposite direction. He followed her in a daze and sat down in her office to exchange perfunctory pleasantries. Shimizu ran her fingers through the pile of files on her desk as she spoke. 

When she found what she was looking for, Shimizu looked up at him, over the rims of her wire-framed glasses. “Oikawa-san, if you were curious. That’s the man you were speaking with when I found you.” 

Daichi wasn’t sure how to respond. He hadn’t realized Shimizu had been there for part of that conversation and wondered how much she saw. 

“He’s the lead psychiatric resident, perhaps one of the most acclaimed doctors in the region.” 

“Ah,” Daichi said. His nerves tied his stomach in knots and pulled in every direction and he was afraid he would snap with each passing second. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but there was only one that he needed answered as soon as possible. “Did you happen to see the other man was, the one with gray hair?”

“Gray hair?” 

Daichi swallowed his disappointment. “Sorry, there was another man with us, I thought you might know him.”

“There was another man with you, but his hair wasn’t gray,” she said delicately.

“Do you know him?”

She pursed her lips. “I’m not allowed to give out patient information, Sawamura-san.”

Daichi visibly deflated.

“But, technically, he’s not a patient at this hospital,” she murmured.

“Do you know his name?”

She kept one eye on Daichi as she handed him the files marked with Bokuto’s name. “Yahaba-san,” she said. “Yahaba Shigeru.”

His mind buzzed with static, Daichi took the files from Shimizu and tucked them into his shoulder bag. He thanked her for her patience and left her office, walking stiffly toward the nurse’s station. He walked straight past it and down the hall where Suga and the doctor had gone. 

He walked past offices, some with doors closed and others cracked open. Hospital staff in scrubs and white coats rushed past him as if he were invisible. He continued until he found a room with the Oikawa Tooru’s name engraved on the gold plates to the left of the door. 

The door was closed and the lights were off, so Daichi peeked into the room, but all he could make out were the outlines of desk furniture and gilded frames on the walls. He tried the handle, but it was locked. 

Someone in the hallway stopped to ask if he needed something, and Daichi asked them if they knew when the doctor would be back, but he only got a half-hearted shrug in response. 

It wasn’t until he was outside, halfway to the office, that he began to shake. The tremors started in his knees and spread through his thighs, up through his core, into his shoulders and down his arms. Daichi rushed back to his apartment, doubling the steps he usually took, and barely managed to text Bokuto before his fingers shook so violently that he couldn’t hold his phone anymore. 

He fumbled with the keys to his apartment and as soon as he closed the door behind him, he pressed his back against it and slid down to the floor, his bag still around his shoulders and his coat bunched up awkwardly around his neck as he hugged his knees to his chest. 

It wasn’t until hours later that he noticed the coffee cup that the man, that Suga, had given him, on the floor next to him. 

The cup itself unremarkable, but there was a stamp on one side with the name of a café he didn’t recognize. He had no memory of carrying the cup with him, but it was there. He picked it up and realized with a start that it was full. He hadn’t taken a single sip.

He raised it to his lips even though it was cold. The coffee was black with just the lightest splash of milk, exactly the way he liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo, i just wanted to put it out there that Oikawa is going to be somewhat of an antagonist, but he's not meant to be a villain. you'll see. it's complicated and i hope i do him justice (the same way i hope i do everyone justice here and always). 
> 
> hope you like! and thanks again for those that gave this angsty nightmare fic a try, i was super overwhelmed by the thoughtful comments and enthusiastic support and still am kind of in awe. i'd give you the stars if i could. 
> 
> next up! Daichi struggles to come to terms with what happened and big guy has a birthday party with some drama. my life is significantly less filled with stuff that takes up obscene amounts of time, so i'm really REALLY hoping to get my shit together have this fic DONE, which means i have to get my shit together and update more regularly. we shall see...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daichi deals with the aftermath of the ghost and faces the new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same sort of warnings apply - mentions of hospitals, death, alcoholism. A wild Daishou appears, Nekoma characters.

It was late afternoon by the time the fog in Daichi’s head cleared enough that he could pull himself to his feet, divest himself of his heavy winter coat, and pull himself up off the floor where he had collapsed. 

He was leaning on his counter with both hands, staring at the black and white marbling of the countertop when his phone buzzed in his place on the small table near his door. Daichi didn’t have to check to know that it was someone from the office, wondering where he was with the files he had gotten from the hospital that morning. 

Despite the churning of his stomach and the pounding in his head, Daichi arranged for a courier to pick up the stack of paper tucked away in his shoulder bag, and, once they were safely en route to the office, Daichi sunk down into one of the chairs around his kitchen table. He opened his laptop to scan the work that still had to be done before the end of the day, but the paper cup, the one that Suga had given him, stared at him over the top of his computer screen. 

It was all in his head, and he knew it. That doctor might’ve been a prick, but he was right. Daichi had been so desperate, so out of control, that he had projected Suga’s face on to a stranger with such intensity that he still thought the guy might’ve been Suga. He had harassed some poor guy just because he still couldn’t hold himself together in a hospital. 

The best course of action would’ve been to move on, to repeat a mantra or, conversely, to allow himself to be completely swallowed up by the grief that rose like water around him and pushed the air right out of his lungs, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake himself free of the encounter. 

How had he heard Suga’s voice? All of the books and articles had told him that voice was the first memory you lose, and hearing him was like remembering all over again. 

How had they been able to speak? Daichi was no stranger to seeing Suga’s face in a crowd, but it had usually vanished as quickly as it had appeared. 

Why had he projected Suga slightly differently than the way he looked when he was alive? The Suga in the hospital had shorter hair than his Suga had ever worn it and wore clothes that Daichi had never seen before. He couldn’t shake the memory of the man, how every detail of his face was Suga’s, and how those details were even sharper than the details that came to him in his dreams. 

How had the doctor, Oikawa-san, known his name and what he did there?Daichi thought of his own office and how fast information spread between groups of people that spent long hours together and supposed that his visit to the hospital could’ve been general knowledge. Other than the oppressive aura that surrounded the man, he couldn’t reasonably justify the deep-seated distrust that welled up inside of him everytime he remembered the doctor’s perfect sneer. 

He stared numbly at the words on his computer screen, trying to catch any revisions that had to be made so that he could hand the document off to Komi before he sat before a judge the following Monday, but all he could think about was the way the doctor had stepped between him and the man with Suga’s face. The doctor was right, of course, that Daichi shouldn’t have been harassing anyone, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. 

Daichi let a long breath out slowly through his lips and opened another tab in his web browser, typing in the doctor’s name first, and then opened up a second tab to type in the name of the man that the hospital administrator had provided. 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but his cursory search of the two men yielded nothing he didn’t already know about doctor and the curious absence of the other man. Daichi closed out of the searches and attempted to focus on the work that he absolutely had to get done before the day was out, but the memory of the morning tugged at the loose strings of his subconscious as he referenced court cases and corroborated dates and, as hard as Daichi tried to push the thoughts away, the words on the screen eventually blurred and the only clear image in his head was the hospital. 

Abandoning the computer screen entirely, Daichi rubbed his wrists and then, as the tingling in his fingers spread to his elbows, he crossed his arms across his chest, holding his elbows as the sharp pains traveled up through his shoulders, across his upper back, and up the back of his neck. 

The phantom pains were annoying, but he didn’t worry about them; they happened every time he remembered the time he spent in the hospital the afternoon Suga died. 

It started with the beeping, different tones coming from different doors as he walked down a corridor, sandwiched by walls the color of dried vomit. Then, there was a doctor with his feet firmly planted on the black and white checkered linoleum tiles. That doctor had told him they did everything they could, like a scene straight out of a movie. They had already taken Suga’s body, and his infection had made his body dangerous. 

Next thing Daichi knew, he was falling. His hands had caught his body and he leaned into the wall but every intangible part of him was gone. 

He had tried to ask the doctors to explain how they could take Suga’s body away without identification, but the doctor had nothing more than his stock answers. The shaking of his head. The same apology, repeated over and over. 

Through muscle memory, Daichi had managed to call Tanaka, and when he burst through the doors like a one person stampede, the hospital staff had to hold him back because Daichi couldn’t remember how to move. Tanaka had howled. Daichi still remembered the smell of alcohol on his breath. 

They had to be escorted out of the hospital and Tanaka disappeared while Daichi stared down at the death certificate in his hand, the same slip of paper locked away in the safe in Daichi’s bedroom closet. 

Daichi unraveled his arms from around his middle and knocked into the mouse he used with his laptop as he stretched his fingers. The screen flashed to life again, hitting him with the full force of the life still ahead of him, the one where he was alone and Suga was gone and he had a pile of work to do before the weekend. 

He ignored the vibrations of his phone for the next few hours and powered through the work that unquestionably had to be submitted before the weekend. Daichi didn’t want to think about the ribbing he would get from Akaashi on Monday about the sloppiness of his work, so he added it to the ever-growing list of things he had to push to the back of his mind in order to make it through the rest of the evening. 

It took him longer to fall asleep that night, the longest it had taken since the dreams had started. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, he finally drifted into unconsciousness, lulled to sleep by the thought that whatever happened during the day, he had Suga at night, and no one could take that away from him.

Daichi woke up to his blood rushing in his ears, in sync with the rhythm of his heart. He was cold, having kicked the blankets off himself at some point in evening, and rushed to gather the blankets at the bottom of the bed and pull them up to his neck. 

For as long as he had them, his dreams had always been the same. Suga’s eyes, the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheek. His smile, toothy and joyful. The moles on his skin. The twists and turns of the cowlicks that swirled over his scalp. 

Suga was still there that night, but he wasn’t smiling. His eyes were wide with confusion and his lips were parted, like he was trying to speak but couldn’t find the words. Daichi was lucid enough in the dream to fight the urge to reach out, to hold him close, to kiss him and tell him that it was okay. He fought it because he knew if he reached out the dream would be over, and he wasn’t ready for Suga to blink out of existence for the day when he looked so vulnerable. Then, surprising Daichi deep in the dream, Suga’s arm started to lift, like he was trying to reach out to Daichi, and Daichi panicked. He tried to tell Suga to stop, to explain what was wrong before he woke up, but he didn’t get the chance.

Daichi had never told anyone about the dreams, choosing instead to rationalize them according to what he read was normal for the bereaved. It made sense that his mind, left to its own devices, would conjure the image of his beloved so that he could get through the day. 

He often wondered if he would’ve been better able to handle Suga’s death if he would’ve thought more about dreaming during his life. He wondered if it would’ve helped him that morning in particular, when the dream finally changed. 

Ignoring the sweat as it cooled on his forehead, he clutched the sheets to his chest and shut his eyes tightly, as if that would transport him back into the dream. His efforts were made in vain; he was wide awake, kept company only by the ambient noise of the city reaching through the concrete walls and the sleet tapping at the window in harsh staccato. 

He shivered under the valleys and trenches of the stucco ceiling. He thought once again of the astronaut, the one who floated in the vast nothingness of space and looked down at everything he knew and loved, too small to make out and impossibly far away. They chose to defy gravity and chart new expanses. They got a new perspective that would forever change the way they viewed the world. 

Daichi decided that he’d had his fill of new perspectives and the pitch black of early morning suddenly seemed endless. 

Trying to catch his breath from the shock of waking, he thought of the man at the hospital. Talking to him had been like falling back in time, his grip on Daichi’s arm like a lifeline and his laugh like a bridge over the decimated landscape of Daichi’s hollowed soul. It was crazy, and every detail from the day before, coupled with the coincidence of his dream changing that same night, pulled him further and further past the edge of reason. 

Daichi felt around on the table next to his bed and winced when the phone screen lit up in his face. He scrolled to Tanaka’s name. Tanaka would pick up the phone if Daichi called, no matter the hour, but he couldn’t figure out a way to tell Tanaka about his dreams without risking hurting Tanaka unnecessarily. 

He briefly considered texting Kuroo, to give in to the temporary panacea that was drinking until you forgot and then fucking someone so hard you forgot your own name. Daichi rubbed his eyes and ran a hand down his face, stretching out his skin, and then let his hand drop to his side. It was one thing for that to just happen, but it was something else to call someone specifically for that purpose. 

Daichi picked up his phone again and found Asahi’s name. He started typing out a message, but ended up locking the screen without completing it. Asahi wouldn’t have minded, but disturbing him before the sun rose seemed like too much. 

He stayed in bed only five minutes longer before padding to the living room, wrapped in the heavy comforter from his bed, and he sat on the couch, waiting to watch the city come alive with the sun.

As Daichi sipped tea in front of his window, he glanced at the texts that kept lighting up his phone screen. Curt birthday greetings from his parents, strings of incomprehensible emojis from his little brother and sister, a few simple messages from varied members of his and Suga’s family and, of course, a terrible birthday meme dump from Tanaka. 

He responded to them all as they came through and, once rush hour traffic had begun, Daichi sent a quick note to Asahi, asking him if he might be available to talk that morning. 

Asahi didn’t answer right away, so Daichi opened up the web browser on his phone. Apparently the last website he had visited belonged to the café where the hospital guy had gotten coffee, the pink logo at the top of the page corresponding to the stamp on the side of the empty cup by Daichi’s kitchen sink. Out of curiosity, he looked up the hours and, seeing that they were open, he jumped off the couch, pulled some fresh clothing from his closet, and slipped out of his apartment with his laptop bag slung hastily over his shoulder. 

Daichi looked up at the gray sky, sun still low as it continued to rise, and wiped the snow that fell from his face as he started off in the direction of the café, close to the hospital where he swore he had seen Suga. 

His feet dipped into puddles and freezing water found its way through his boots, but he didn’t pay much attention to the discomfort and chose instead to take in all of the details of the buildings around him: the concrete balconies, the unobtrusive beige blinds, empty planter boxes covered in thin layers of snow. The city felt somehow unfamiliar that morning, like he was seeing everything for the first time, and instead of getting nervous as he approached the hospital, he thought his stomach might be flipping from anticipation instead.

Before long, he stood in front of a boxy high rise. It was large enough that it stuck out on the residential street just a few blocks off the beaten path, but it was still dwarfed by the massive hospital buildings around it. A small pink logo stamped on the inside of the door let Daichi know he was in the right place. 

There were only a couple people inside the establishment when he got there, and Daichi was embarrassed at the way his stomach dropped with disappointment when he didn’t recognize any of them. 

He took a seat after getting a simple cup of coffee and opened his laptop. The necessary documents were open on his screen and work-appropriate tabs were marked in his browser, but it was mostly pretense. Daichi’s eyes hovered above his screen so that he could see each person that came through the door. 

The thought occurred to him that maybe he could ask if any of the baristas had seen the man he had seen the day before. He could give them the name of the stranger that Shimizu had given him. Maybe they would know, maybe they could help him. 

He shifted under the heavy weight of the objective truth, that Suga was dead and that the man was a stranger, that the encounter at the hospital had affected him so much that even his dreams had changed. His attention was redirected toward his phone when it buzzed against the wooden table. 

> [Asahi]: Just got your text. Can meet you anywhere!

> [Asahi]: I’ll have to pick Nishinoya up before we go out later. That okay? If not I can definitely make something work.

> [Asahi]: Happy birthday, by the way! 

> [Asahi]: Sorry :(

> [Asahi]: Are you okay? Sorry for not asking sooner!

Daichi coughed to hide his chuckle. Asahi had nervous texting down to a science. 

> [Daichi]: Thanks, and that’s no problem. I’m at a café by the hospital, so whenever’s fine. I’ll send you the address.

Daichi’s fingers stilled over his phone screen.

> [Daichi]: I’m fine. Just a rough day yesterday. 

Asahi’s responses flowed in, half of which were apologies for nothing in particular. The other half of them were assurances that he’d be there as soon as he could. Daichi smiled into his hand. Jittery messages aside, Daichi wasn’t sure how he’d made it as far as he did without Asahi’s friendship. 

When Asahi made it to the café, Daichi only watched as his friend tried, and failed, to squeeze himself between the chairs and tables without making a scene. He was so bulky that he bumped and pushed and prodded everyone he passed and apologized to each and every single one of them just to have them clutch their purses closer to their chests or crossed their arms like they had to protect themselves. 

Daichi snorted, remembering how Asahi had done the exact same thing the first time they met, a fateful blind date set up at the behest of someone in one of the grief counseling groups back in Sendai. Daichi had already been at the table, awkwardly overdressed and an emotional wreck, but he had felt a little better after watching Asahi bumble about the restaurant first. 

Asahi took off his coat and rubbed his bare hands together as he sat down in the chair next to Daichi. The action reminded Daichi of Yachi, her bare hands and delicate fingers as they played with the silver bracelet around her wrist. 

He couldn’t say anything to Yachi about bare hands in the winter, but he could definitely give Asahi crap about it. 

“You know it gets cold every winter, right? Maybe you should invest in some gloves.”

Asahi pulled his hands under the table, but Daichi could tell from the way his shoulders moved that he was still wringing them together. “I have gloves,” he said with a defeated sigh, “but Nishinoya keeps taking them.”

“Doesn’t he have his own gloves?”

“He does, I think,” Asahi admitted.

“Now I’m confused.”

Asahi bit back a smile. “He likes wearing my things, and besides, it’s hard say ‘no’ to Nishinoya. He gets these big eyes, like he knows I know he’s testing me, but it’s endearing, and it’s just, I can’t. I mean, I can’t normally, but especially not to him,” he explained, using his hands like they would connect the words of his explanation and ease it into coherency. 

Fortunately for Asahi, Daichi knew exactly what it was like to have feelings for someone with a charming, shit-eating grin and not be able to deny them anything. “I get it,” Daichi admitted, half of his mouth drawn up into a small smile. “But maybe you should get secret gloves, or something. Seriously, it’s the dead of winter.”

Asahi narrowed his eyes at Daichi. “I know you’re teasing me, but it’s because you care.”

“No need to get sappy,” Daichi grunted, hoping that the blush that had crept its way across his cheeks didn’t give him away. “Nishinoya might get jealous.”

“Actually,” Asahi said thoughtfully, “he did say you were a hunk.”

Daichi spit out the sip of water he had just taken from his glass and coughed to get the water out of the back of his throat. Alternating between coughs and clearing his throat, Daichi leaned across the table to punch Asahi in the shoulder. Asahi gripped the part of his bicep that Daichi had hit but continued to laugh, and, eventually, Daichi’s coughing turned into laughter as well. 

“That’s not happening,” Daichi said, once he had gotten control of himself. 

“That’s what I told him,” Asahi said, shifting in his seat. They lapsed into a beat of comfortable silence while Asahi sipped his coffee, jerking back with a hiss after burning his tongue. He set the cup on the table with more force than necessary and pulled his chair closer to the table. “Are you okay with telling me what happened yesterday?”

The phrasing of Asahi’s question was careful, sensitive as always, and Daichi trusted him, acknowledging the question with a nod. “I think I mentioned that I had to go to the hospital this week, for work?”

Asahi didn’t answer, so he continued.

“So I went, and everything was… Fine.” Daichi left out the parts about not being able to stomach getting on a train because being in an enclosed space would’ve felt too much like a coffin and forcing each step as he waded through the memories of the worst day of his life. Asahi wasn’t convinced, judging by the skeptical look he cast in Daichi’s direction, but he didn’t say anything. “But, right before my appointment with the administrator, I had another,” Daichi paused to look for the right word, unhappy with the ones that came to him, “moment?”

“A moment?” 

Daichi rubbed his face, suddenly regretting saying anything at all. “I saw him handing out coffee to some of the hospital staff.”

“Oh Daichi,” Asahi said quietly. 

“Don’t _oh, Daichi_ me.” 

Asahi grimaced and Daichi felt like an asshole for snapping. Asahi apologized, which made Daichi feel even worse. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Asahi said. “Really, it’s okay. Just keep going.”

“Well, I tried to focus on the little details to keep me grounded, but I just froze, like an idiot, right in the middle of the hallway.”

“Understandable,” Asahi said, then shaking his head to backtrack. “I mean, understandable that you froze, not that you’re an idiot. Not that at all. But I know you know these _moments_ are fairly common, so what made you reach out to me?”

“This time was different,” Daichi admitted unhappily.

Concern was etched into the lines on Asahi’s face, radiating from the corners of his eyes and framing the corners of his lips. “How so?”

“All of the other times I’ve thought I’ve seen Suga, his face eventually disappeared, and I realized that it wasn’t him at all, just another person that happened to be in the right place at the right time. But yesterday, looking at the person with Suga’s face, watching the way he interacted with everyone, and the way he touched me, just… I would’ve sworn on anything that it was him.”

Asahi leaned forward in his seat. “You interacted with the man you thought was Suga?”

Daichi swallowed hard. “He, the guy, Suga came up to me.”

“And what did you talk about?” 

“Nothing really.” Asahi leaned further into Daichi’s space and quirked an eyebrow. “He was concerned because I didn’t look well, obviously, but I didn’t say anything to him, I couldn’t, and then this doctor came and Suga, er, the guy left.”

“And that was it?” 

Daichi decided not to mention the doctor’s creepy warning and his bizarrely-timed clairvoyance. “Yes, well, except one thing. After he had handed drinks to the hospital staff, he gave me one as well.”

“That was nice of him,” Asahi said warily.

“And it sounds crazy, hearing myself say it, but the guy said he always got an extra one without really knowing why.”

Asahi hummed in thought. “I don’t mean to disrespect your experience, but if the guy gets coffees for a large group of people, is it really crazy that he had an extra one, just in case he forgot an order?”

“You have a point,” Daichi confessed, “but it was made just the way I take it.”

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Just a hint of cream.”

Asahi took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “That’s not an uncommon way to take coffee, Daichi.”

“I know you’re right.”

Asahi reached across the table and put his hand over Daichi’s. “And I’m guessing we’re meeting in this café, near the hospital, because it was where the coffee came from?”

“Ding ding ding,” Daichi said mirthlessly, waving his finger in the air lazily. 

“Ah.” Asahi pinched his mouth to the side, still patting Daichi’s hand.

“Yeah.”

Daichi turned his palm on the table so Asahi could wrap their fingers together. The café was quiet enough at that point and Daichi was crushed enough that he didn’t mind the public display of affection. He hadn’t told Asahi the whole truth and he hadn’t mentioned his dreams or how his dream had changed, but it didn’t matter. 

The morning before was just like all of the other times he thought he saw Suga, no matter what weird coincidences might make him think otherwise. He squeezed Asahi’s hand one more time, and then changed the subject completely.

He only stayed at the café for twenty minutes after Asahi left, and he had a couple hours before he had to head to the trendy dessert bar that Tanaka had chosen for their gathering, so, despite knowing better, Daichi spent that time scouring the internet. 

In his research the day before before, he hadn’t found anything using the name of the stranger that Shimizu had given him, so he settled on trying to find everything he could about the doctor. 

Oikawa Tooru was exactly the person Shimizu-san had said. He was the lead psychiatric resident at Tokyo City hospital and an exemplary physician. He was the youngest person to have had that position in the history of the hospital, having somehow managed to earn both an MD and PhD simultaneous after university. It was a record that very few doctors, or people, could boast. 

Daichi was so absorbed in his computer that he had almost forgotten about his plans, when Tanaka texted him to let him know that he had left his apartment and would meet Daichi at the dessert place. He took one last look at the screen before closing his laptop. 

On the train, Daichi sat back in his seat and tried to relax, but it was impossible. Suga had looked so worried in his dream that morning, and Daichi couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with seeing Suga’s face in the hospital. Asahi would tell him that it made sense, that the traumatic morning would certainly affect his subconscious mind, but there was still something about the timing, along with meeting Yachi and talking about her dreams, that seemed too perfect to be a coincidence. 

Walking toward the dessert bar, Daichi saw Tanaka waiting for him on the sidewalk, and it only took one more step for Tanaka look up from his phone and lock eyes with Daichi. Tanaka waved and, before Daichi knew it, he was enveloped by two strong arms and his face was in Tanaka’s chest, inhaling cheap cologne. Tanaka pulled back just as Daichi was about to tap out and looked at him, a big grin plastered across his face. 

“Tanaka,” Daichi greeted, allowing himself to be manhandled. 

“The birthday boy has finally arrived!” 

Daichi tried to match Tanaka’s enthusiasm, reaching out to rub his head, feinting and grabbing him in a headlock instead. “What do you mean _finally_?”

Tanaka laughed and grabbed Daichi’s forearm, pretending to resist. “It’s your birthday and, like, half of us are here already!”

“Really?”

“Well, maybe just three of us, but, like, we’re really important.” 

Daichi released him, and Tanaka straightened up to fix his shirt, a thin button-down that looked more appropriate for the beach than a winter evening in Tokyo. He glanced up at Daichi, trying to read his face and looking sheepish. “So ya ready to meet my sponsor? He brought his boyfriend, hope that’s cool?”

Daichi paled. With everything that had happened over the last few days, he had totally blanked on telling Tanaka that he had already met Nishinoya, but before he could rectify the situation Tanaka had already grabbed his hand and was leading him into the building. 

When Daichi approached the table, he locked eyes with Asahi, and Nishinoya leapt out of his chair, only letting go of Asahi’s hand right before Asahi fell off his own chair, to meet them before they sat down. 

“Daichi! Twice in one week! Happy Birthday!”

Tanaka’s head jerked back in surprise and he looked between the two of them at least three times before gesturing an explosion out the top of his skull. 

Daichi cleared his throat to get Tanaka’s attention. “We actually met just a couple days ago. I forgot to tell you.”

“You guys know each other already?” 

“Hell yeah!” Nishinoya shouted, causing the people around them to stare. “We just met Thursday!”

“My man, that’s wild!” Tanaka shouted back. He held up his hands high enough that Nishinoya had to launch himself off the floor to reach. Their palms met with a resounding slap. Tanaka turned to Daichi, “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Daichi’s stomach curdled with guilt. “I had a lot going on the past couple of days.”

“Right,” Tanaka said, bringing his voice down, connecting the dots. “Wait,” he said, holding his hands up to stop anyone else from talking. “Does that mean Yuu’s boyfriend is THAT Asahi, Azumane?”

Asahi heard his name and perked up, but didn’t stand. He gave them a nervous wave. 

Tanaka held his stomach as he guffawed, drawing the attention of every customer in the establishment that hadn’t already been giving them dirty looks for their volume. “Well come on then, since we’re all friends already. Let’s get this party started!” 

Daichi clapped Asahi on the back as he said down with the small group while Tanaka ordered him a fancy coffee drink that Daichi assumed, given the foam animals that topped everyone else’s drink, would have some sort of animal face protruding from the mug. When the drink was ordered, Tanaka jumped right back into conversation. 

“So let me get this straight,” he said, stopping to snort at his own joke. 

“Nice,” Nishinoya said, raising his hand to Tanaka’s for another high five, which the latter completed with an unforeseen level of gusto. 

“So this guy,” Tanaka gestured to Asahi, “is the guy from the date? The therapist friend?”

“Unfortunately,” Daichi said, clapping Asahi on the shoulder hard enough to make the him cower. 

“Hey!” Asahi rebutted with a pout. 

Tanaka laughed, but the sound faded a bit as his pursed his lips into an exaggerated pout. “It’s literally the coolest thing ever that you all know each other, but, not gonna lie, I’m a little bummed that we’re just hanging out now when we could’ve been doing this for months!”

“Not even close to months,” Daichi said with a laugh. 

“I guess that’s true,” Tanaka said, thinking hard. “But what if you had actually introduced me to Asahi before and then we’d have been friends and then I could’ve met Yuu so much sooner.”

Daichi worried his lip. He had bugged Tanaka about talking to Asahi in a professional capacity, but he had never really thought about introducing them as friends. He was about to admit it when Nishinoya spoke. 

“I dunno, Ryuu. Like, it would’ve been really sweet if we had known each other, but if I had known Daichi was this hot, I might’ve been worried.”

Tanaka slapped the table with glee at the same time Daichi coughed to clear his throat. They almost missed Asahi whisper to Nishinoya, “You wouldn’t have had to worry though.”

Nishinoya clapped his hands and wiggled closer to Asahi so that he could poke his nose with his index finger. 

“They’re pretty gross,” Tanaka stage whispered. 

Daichi nodded in agreement. He was happy for them, but he was relieved when his drink came, a ghastly concoction with a giant foam dog leaping from the sides of the mug, and they came together to toast not only Daichi’s birthday, but also the New Year and Asahi’s birthday the next day. Just as he was about to bring his coffee to his lips, Asahi’s eyes widened and, a split-second later, Daichi felt a slap on his back so forceful it made him spill some of his coffee. 

He greeted the man without looking. “Bokuto.”

Bokuto’s laugh reverberated through the entire café as Daichi turned around, getting up to properly greet his boss and the gaggle of his coworkers that followed their leader. Daichi made the introductions between his friends, and Tanaka all but pushed Daichi toward them, encouraging him to talk to them as they settled into seats. 

Daichi didn’t have to do much to get involved because Bokuto slung his arm around Daichi’s neck and dragged him around to everyone; Sarukui and his girlfriend, whose name Daichi didn’t catch, Komi, Konoha, Washio, and even Yukie, a consultant that helped them with cases on occasion. 

Drinks were served and, as Daichi slipped further and further into the moment, he found himself enjoying the company. Nishinoya and Tanaka were social enough that they integrated themselves into the group conversation without issue. 

Akaashi ended up at the table opposite Daichi, and Daichi couldn’t help catching the quick glances he sent Bokuto, his face awash in the subtle glow it got when he was watching Bokuto in his best form in front of a judge, or when Bokuto surprised him with a second lunch. On the latter occasions, Akaashi had usually already eaten and Bokuto would sulk away because he had forgotten, but, when Bokuto’s back had turned, Akaashi would always sneak the food back into his office. 

At some point they had started talking about their plans for the rest of the weekend, and Komi mentioned taking his nieces and nephews to the shrine for the first time. Bokuto’s face lit up at the mention of children and he started grilling Komi for information, about how old they were, and what they liked and if they liked sports and when they were going to come visit the office and play with him already? Daichi looked back to Akaashi, who was smiling. 

Daichi realized, in that moment, he had never seen Akaashi smile genuinely, not just out of politeness. His teeth remained hidden by his lips, but the corners of his mouth arched gracefully and something very welcoming flooded his eyes, making them flicker with invitation, like a single candle burning in the dark. It wasn’t bright like Suga’s, but it almost made Daichi weak in the knees. He wondered if Akaashi knew how powerful his smile was and kept it hidden, harnessing his power responsibly. 

The door to the dessert bar opened while Daichi was examining Akaashi, and he didn’t think to look but, when Akaashi caught sight of whoever had just entered the establishment, his smile disappeared immediately, and Daichi craned his neck to see who had just wiped the smile from Akaashi’s face. 

His curiosity tripled at the sight of Kuroo and his small group of friends, shaking the snow off of their coats. Daichi raised his hand to Kuroo, but he didn’t notice; his eyes were locked on Akaashi. Bokuto ended up breaking the silence. 

“Tetsu!?”

“Koutarou, what a surprise!” Kuroo said with a grin, which faltered only slightly when he finally noticed Daichi nestled in amongst Bokuto’s people. “And Sawamura,” he nodded in greeting. “And Akaashi-san, of course,” he said, his lips thinning slightly. 

Akaashi stared him down like a predator sizing up his prey. “Kuroo-san,” he said in a clipped voice. 

Daichi recovered from the shock of finding out that the two groups of people knew each other already, but then made the mistake of looking at Tanaka, who thought he was being sneaky as he made an obscene gesture in Kuroo’s direction and looked to Daichi for confirmation that Kuroo was the guy. Daichi closed his eyes to take a breath while he swallowed his embarrassment, but when he opened them Tanaka was giving him two thumbs up, Asahi covered his face, and Nishinoya echoed Tanaka’s gesture. His coworkers caught on and all of them cast their eyes aside except for Akaashi, who furrowed his brow as he gauged Daichi’s reaction to the whole ordeal. 

Bokuto, on the other hand, had already gotten up and was barreling toward Kuroo until he was close enough to pick the taller man up in a tight bear hug and squeeze him like it was nothing. 

Daichi couldn’t hear what they were talking about over the general din of the café, but Akaashi had sidled up next to Daichi in Bokuto’s absence, sipping his drink. It was a funny sight, Akaashi looking at Kuroo like he was squaring up a demon while sipping a drink with foam in the melting face of a cartoon bear. 

“It’s a small world, Sawamura-san,” he murmured over the edge of his drink, motioning toward where Bokuto stood, with Kuroo’s arm draped around his neck, talking to the rest of Kuroo’s friends. 

The comment made Daichi laugh, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. He chalked it up to not knowing how his world could possibly get any smaller. “Sure is,” he said dumbly. 

Akaashi’s face had regained some of color he had lost upon seeing Kuroo come into the dessert bar, and cold irritation was replaced by the strange combination of fond and annoyed that only Akaashi was able to manage. “We went to school near each other,” Akaashi said by way of explanation. 

“Yup!” Bokuto said, joining in the conversation with Kuroo at his side, standing next to the table. “Not only that, but remember, ‘Kaashi? We used to play volleyball against them.”

”How could I forget,” Akaashi replied, his expression stony. 

“And I thought we were friends,” Kuroo said, and then jerked his thumb at Bokuto. “But this guy conveniently lost my number after graduation.”

Bokuto pouted at the memory. “I went to America,” he whined. “I had to get a new phone!”

“I suppose I can’t fault you that,” Kuroo said, “but, Sawamura, I thought you’d be a respectable lawyer, instead of throwing yourself in with this lot.”

Daichi laughed, unsure of how to respond and still put off by Bokuto and Akaashi’s opposite reactions to Kuroo’s presence. The rest of Kuroo’s friends and his co-workers seemed to be talking pleasantly enough, so Daichi asked if they all knew each other instead of coming up with a witty reply to Kuroo’s friendly jab. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo answered, easing his arm from around Bokuto’s neck. “We met through sports in high school and some of us ended up going to the same universities, but it’s been awhile since we’ve all gathered together like this.” The entire time Kuroo spoke, his eyes raked over Daichi’s face and Daichi couldn’t figure out what Kuroo was looking for, or if it found it, because Kuroo’s face gave nothing away. He ended up motioning towards Daichi’s little group. “But I’d be remiss in my duties as friend and birthday gathering attendee if I didn’t introduce my friends to everyone else. Shall we?”

Daichi laughed at the way Kuroo extended his arm as if he expected Daichi to take it, like he was a frail maiden lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces at court. When he didn’t loop their arms together, Kuroo snickered and shrugged to himself like it was Daichi’s loss. 

After the introductions, Daichi realized with lingering embarrassment that he hadn’t caught Kuroo’s friends’ names and only remembering small details about them, like how the tallest wasn’t actually Japanese but Russian and would, by the end of the evening, spill his drink a total of three times. There was a short one with sandy hair that kept scolding them and another, a skinny guy with long, dyed hair, who was dating the one of the other guys, a beefy dude with a mohawk dyed in a similar fashion, and a quiet one that didn’t look uncomfortable but seemed to be fine with observing. 

Tanaka and Nishinoya took to the beefy mohawk guy like triplets separated at birth, and they were exchanging numbers within five minutes of their acquaintance, while Asahi sank into the back of his chair like it would make him invisible to the group. 

Bokuto managed to convince the waitstaff to pull enough tables together so that everyone could gather as a single group, and even though it was overwhelming, Daichi couldn’t bring himself to hate it. Akaashi was back on the other side of the table with Bokuto, Tanaka was right next to him, their thighs touching and reminding Daichi of his unwavering support, and Kuroo was on his other side, his arms crossed as he caught up with Bokuto across the table. 

About an hour after Kuroo’s arrival, the door chimed again, and Kuroo stiffened as he turned his entire body toward the entrance, catching the attention of everyone at the table. The only one who didn’t look in the direction of the door was Akaashi, who kept his eyes trained on Kuroo. 

Daichi didn’t get the chance to ask about the person coming toward them because Kuroo was already pushing away from the table with a strange smile on his face. He watched the two meet in the middle of the dessert just out of hearing range, so Daichi observed the newcomer. 

The man was shorter than Kuroo, but not much taller than Daichi himself, and he sported an ostentatiously expensive wool coat and a fashionable scarf. Daichi couldn’t make out the brand, but the logo was printed all over the fabric in an interlocking pattern. It looked soft, like a cashmere cloud, and matched the man’s gloves, still on his hands. 

Despite being fashionable and, Daichi assumed wealthy, he didn’t know what to make of the man himself. His long neck sprouting from the top of his expensive scarf and his skin was drawn taught over his sharp chin and high cheekbones, his eyes were narrowed at Kuroo but Daichi couldn’t imagine them being much bigger, and the expression suited him somehow. His bowl-cut, like something a harried mother would give a five year old, actually worked and his hair fell around his face in impeccable waves. He was handsome in the way that models were when they were made up to be slightly disturbing, more a coiffed piece of art than a person. He felt bad about the judging man without knowing him, but his first impression was unsettling. 

Daichi could tell from the way Kuroo stood, leaning into the man’s space slightly, and that they were comfortable with one another, and he could tell from the way Akaashi pursed his lips as he stared at the two of them that there was yet another relationship to be curious about. 

Kuroo and the fashionable man sidled up to the table with an ease that made it look, from an outside perspective, like they had practiced the move. “Hey kids,” the stranger said in greeting, addressing the group. “Oh, hello Akaashi-san,” he sneered. 

“Suguru happened to be in the neighborhood” Kuroo said, his voice carefully impassive. 

“What a coincidence,” Akaashi deadpanned quietly, almost to himself. 

Bokuto cocked his head the way he did when he was considering how best to approach a potentially difficult situation. “Hey hey, Daishou,” he said cheerily, though Daichi thought he might’ve been holding back. “Been awhile, huh? How’re things?”

“Things have been better, Bokuto-san,” he said, looking at Daichi and flashing a picture-perfect smile. “But thank you for asking.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes but he snuck his hand behind Daishou and around his waist. “We’ll be outside for a minute, that okay?”

Everyone looked at Daichi, and he blinked a few times before he realized that they were asking his permission. “Yes?”

And, like the exchange was part of a ritual, Daishou bowed slightly toward Daichi and motioned for Kuroo to lead. “After you, then, Tetsurou. Nice seeing everyone, oh, and happy birthday,” he said over his shoulder, sending a wink in Daichi’s direction. 

When the pair had gone outside, everyone at the table was silent, the rhythm of their conversation having been broken by Daishou’s arrival, and Daichi caught Akaashi look at Bokuto out of the corner of his eye. 

“What a coincidence, Daishou showing up when we’re all gathered here!”

For the first time that evening, Kuroo’s friend with longer dyed hair looked up from his phone. “Not really,” he muttered. “You know Kuroo told him we’d be here.”

Bokuto scrunched up his face. “But didn’t they break up? Or did they get back together again?”

“Yes,” Akaashi said calmly, staring down at his fingernails. “Just like they’ve broken up,” he emphasized the phrase, “and made up every year, making themselves and everyone else miserable in the process.” When he looked back up at Bokuto, they locked eyes for a split-second. Akaashi must’ve communicated something in that time, because Bokuto cleared his throat. 

“Anyway!” Bokuto chirped “We’re here to celebrate a birthday! Anyone need another drink?”

The table erupted into chatter around him as they discussed their next drink and food orders, and Daichi noticed Akaashi get up from Bokuto’s side this time and walk around the table to sit next to Daichi again. 

Under his breath, Akaashi apologized. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable, Sawamura-san.”

Daichi hadn’t been aware of it, but he must’ve looked the part if Akaashi made the effort to remove himself from Bokuto’s side to talk to him. “It’s fine,” he said, unsure if he believed himself. “I don’t know Kuroo all that well.” 

It was true. They hadn’t really talked outside of that awkward morning when Kuroo had caught Daichi awake and off-guard. Kuroo knew more about Daichi’s life and relationship situation than he did about Kuroo’s. “So what actually happened between Kuroo and Daishou-san, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He wasn’t sure if Akaashi would answer, because the question teetered the fine line between information and gossip, but after a moment, Akaashi answered. “They have a complicated relationship,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I suppose that’s not unique to them, and I’m not privy to most of the details, but I do know that sometimes their,” Akaashi paused, sneaking a glance at Bokuto, “complications impact other people and their feelings unfairly.”

In the time Daichi had known Akaashi, he had never gone out of his way to enmesh himself in people’s personal lives, so he couldn’t help but ask, “why are you telling me this?”

Akaashi bit his bottom lip, his eyes softening for a moment. “Because I’ve known Kuroo-san long enough to know the face he makes after he’s gotten,” Akaashi stopped to pick the word he wanted, “involved with someone, and I thought you should at least know what you were getting into. Not everyone has been so lucky.”

His expression was neutral, but Daichi could tell the past ten minutes had affected him on a more personal level. “We’re not really involved,” Daichi said. 

“Oh?” Akaashi asked, his lips parted. “Then I must be mistaken,” he said, obviously not believing his own words. “I apologize, Sawamura-san.” He bowed his head and pushed his chair from the table. 

Daichi followed Akaashi with his eyes until he rounded the table behind Asahi, and then looked down at his cappuccino. The foam visage melted almost entirely into the milky drink and the dog’s espresso foam eyes were stretched and twisted across the surface, like something from a nightmare. 

Tanaka bumped into Daichi’s shoulder, and Daichi waved him off with a smile that wasn’t entirely forced. When Tanaka pushed him again, this time with wider eyes, Daichi patted him on the back and left his hand on Tanaka’s shoulder for a second longer than usual, placating Tanaka enough to go back to his own loud conversation with Nishinoya, Asahi, and Kuroo’s friend with the mohawk (who Daichi assumed he’d hear all about the next day over text) and leaving Daichi to mull over the past few minutes. 

Despite Akaashi’s concern, or Tanaka and Asahi’s pity glances, the thing with Kuroo didn’t bother him. Maybe it should have, especially after Kuroo had specifically said that he wanted to continue doing, well, whatever they were doing, but it didn’t, and the only interest he had was in Kuroo’s wellbeing. 

Akaashi’s parting words stuck with him though, and he thought back on his brief relationship with Kuroo, first to their almost-forgotten hook-up and then to the most recent one, and, deep in the recesses of his memory, he realized that maybe he’d been aware of Daishou from the start. There had always been a spectre in the equation, that first time Kuroo had mentioned someone following him, and the second time he remembered leaving the bar specifically in front of someone else, or because of them. 

He hadn’t paid much attention, having had more carnal needs that spoke loud enough to cover any emotional ones, but he realized Akaashi had been right. Daichi was already involved in whatever Kuroo and Daishou were doing, whether he liked it or not. 

It was quite a while before Kuroo came back to the group, this time without Daishou, and he slid back into his seat without interrupting the flow of conversation. His coat was cold from how long he had been outside and smelled faintly of cigarettes. 

“You okay?” Daichi asked under his breath. 

Kuroo seemed taken aback by the question. “Little ol’ me? Of course.”

He didn’t look okay, Daichi noted. “It’s just, your relationship with him sounds complicated,” he whispered under his breath. 

Kuroo huffed. “Complicated is a word for it, but don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried…”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Kuroo drawled. 

Daichi shook his head, frustrated at his own lack of eloquence. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. Sorry.”

It occurred to Daichi, as he watched Kuroo swirl the remaining bits of his foam cat topping into his coffee with a frown, that maybe they weren’t in such different places after all. Life and love don’t always end up how one believes they should. “I get complicated,” he said quietly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but I’m here if you do.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow in consideration and bit the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he gave Daichi a smug look that shouldn’t have been as handsome as it was. “You’re on, Sawamura, but my only condition is that it has to be over a stiffer drink than this.”

“Deal,” Daichi offered, grateful that Kuroo was smiling again. 

“You’re a nice guy. It’s almost infuriating.”

Daichi hummed. “Well, either deal with it, or don’t.”

Kuroo let out a loud, ugly laugh, which caught the attention of his friends across the table. 

“Please no one else make Kuroo laugh tonight,” his friend with the bleached hair mumbled without looking up from his screen. 

“Kenma!” 

Bokuto snorted. “I can’t believe you still laugh like that!”

“Not you too,” Kuroo said, bringing a hand to his heart like he had to protect it. 

“Honestly,” Komi piped up from the other end of the table, “that’s the one thing I remember about you Kuroo-san!”

The whole table burst into chatter and Daichi sat back in his chair, happy not to be the center of attention anymore. He could finally let his mind wander, and, unsurprisingly, it wandered right back to Suga. Sitting in the touristy dessert bar with his friends and co-workers and new friends, he reminded himself for the hundredth time that day that Asahi had been right, that the guy he saw at the hospital wasn’t Suga. His life was there, with the people who worked Daichi’s birthday into their New Year plans, even if his heart was still stuck in his dreams.

Later that night, when the group had parted to continue their celebrations, Tanaka and Daichi watched midnight come and go while waiting in line at the shrine closest to Tanaka’s apartment, the one that they had found their first year in the city. They celebrated the New Year, and Tanaka told him that he’d pray for the courage to ask his favorite customer her name, “at least.”

Daichi didn’t say it, but, when it was their turn, he prayed for the same thing he’d always prayed for after Suga died, to keep whatever he had left of him as close as possible. 

On the way home, Daichi put his bare hands in his coat pockets and felt the edges of a thick piece of cardstock. He took it out, the business card Yachi had given him, the glossy characters of Raven’s Healing catching the glare of the overhead light. 

He spent the rest of his journey home wondering when he had put the card in his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the story thus far! And thank you all who commented on the last chapter, I'm still in shock tbh. Probably will be for a long time to come. Finally, a big thank you to my beta reader, an actual Angel. 
> 
> Slowly but surely, the updates do come (cringe). Two months seems to work for me, so I'll try to stick to that, or sooner, if my brain Works. Chapter four, Daichi meets the Raven's Healing gang (yaaaaay) and, against his better judgement, tries to find his ghost. 
> 
> Happy almost Oikawa's birthday!! See you next time!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite leaning heavily on friends, the ghost is back and Daichi isn't prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings other than the usual: panic, grief, alcohol. And Daichi gaslighting himself into oblivion.

It was exceptionally late by the time Daichi entered his own apartment, after having dropped Tanaka off at his first. 

On the way back from the train station, he had paused outside the bar. There were lights on inside, and he overheard murmurs of conversation while he stared into the tinted windows, watching his reflection appear and disappear as his breath fogged the glass. Instead of going in, he had shoved his bare hands in his pockets and dragged his feet toward home.

His stomach churned and blood pounded in his ears, loud in the quiet of his apartment. Daichi blamed the extra caffeine, but he couldn’t definitively rule out the mysterious appearance of the card in his pocket. Luckily, or so he mused, mental and physical exhaustion strong armed his racing heart and upset stomach, and he trudged to bed, only barely stripping off his shirt and pants right before slipping under the covers. 

In the few minutes it took him to fall asleep, he faced the simple fact his birthday had come and gone. Another whole year waited on his doorstep with its knuckles raised to knock. When he shut his eyes for good that night, would Suga be smiling again? 

A empty question. The Suga in his dreams was a projection of his own creation. He’d been riled up the morning before at the hospital, which obviously would’ve changed the way he processed the day subconsciously and, in turn, changed his dreamscape. 

He had a good evening, even if it pained him to admit it, and he hoped that would be enough to see Suga smile again.

The dream didn’t jolt him awake like it did before, but Daichi woke up with a clenched jaw and rigid muscles. 

Suga had still been worried. He’d still reached out, and Daichi didn’t do a damn thing.

He opened and closed his mouth to stretch his sore jaw, but knew any relief gained would just be physical. 

A lumped formed in the back of his throat. He knew the dreams would change and thought back to Yachi, fidgeting with her bracelet under the horrific flickering lights, standing in the cold. How did her dreams of Mei change before they stopped all together? 

How could he bring it up again?

His eyes burned, but Daichi squeezed them shut. The minutes ticked by and he got more and more frustrated with himself, as if pressing a grieving stranger for their own experiences and burdening them with his new and elaborate ways of torturing himself would get either of them anywhere. 

His body felt heavy, his bones like lead weights, like he would sink through his mattress and break through the bed at any second. He’d read that resting was a better alternative to getting up when you couldn’t sleep, so he stayed as still as he could for as long as he could, just another five minutes before the vast expanse of time before him became too much to bear and he had to open his eyes. 

He groaned as he pulled his legs over the side of the bed and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders so that he could shuffle into his living room. 

What would Suga have thought of the scene, of Daichi waking up before the sun because of a recurring dream, wrapping himself in fabric like a caterpillar ready to morph and sitting in the dark of his apartment, watching the world rise with the break of dawn?

Something told him Suga would’ve approved. He wouldn’t have chosen Daichi’s current circumstances, but he would’ve been intrigued by the dreams and the power they held, especially given Daichi’s previous three decades and some of dreamless nights and enthusiastic stubbornness when it came to talking about it. 

He also might’ve liked that there was someone to greet the sun when it rose and the city when it stirred. Most mornings, they did it alone. 

_Stupid thoughts from an even stupider person_ , he said to himself, huffing under his breath and settling into his chair in front of the window. 

Fortunately, he managed to doze soon after sitting, but he woke up again with a start, his neck cracking sharply as he jolted upright in the chair. Scrabbling for his phone, he realized he hadn’t brought it with him and squinted at the time on the electronic display of his stove. It was only 9:30 on a Sunday. 

He had nowhere to be. 

The thought wasn’t entirely comforting, and Daichi worried that, left unchecked, he would sit on that couch all day. He worked on popping the rest of the joints that had stiffened during his nap and stretched his arms over his head, letting the blanket fall from around his shoulders. He managed to lift himself out of the chair so that he could retrieve his phone from the bedroom.

The device was where he had left it the night before, as was the black Raven’s Healing card. Daichi picked it up along with his phone and stared at the glossy black surface of the thick cardstock while he walked back to the kitchen. He relied on muscle memory to navigate his morning routine, and the hot water kettle bubbled angrily while he turned the card over in his hands. After having dumped some instant coffee into his mug, he pulled up the store’s website on his phone.

He had visited the it before, only briefly, and frowned when he realized that other than a location, operating hours and a telephone number, the only other information about the place consisted of vague descriptions of the “services” they offered. 

Words like “tarot,” “crystals” and “energy” jumped out at Daichi. The New-Agey vocabulary didn’t throw him, since the first thing he and Yachi had done, as strangers, was talk about their dreams of the dead, but his curiosity surprised him. Years earlier, he probably would’ve closed out of the tab without a second thought, but there he was, letting his crappy coffee cool while turned the words over in his head. 

Daichi ran his fingers over the logo. He fully admitted to knowing very little about the different types of corvids, but he inferred from the name that the bird-shaped design was a raven. The bird’s head was tilted so that it started at the viewer with one eye and its wings were lowered but outstretched, like it was only pausing to consider the viewer before taking off.

The bird reminded him of something, but he couldn’t place it, and he thought about the raven’s critical eye as he entered the mall a couple hours later. He found his way without much trouble, but knowing where he was going didn’t ease the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach and it only grew as he approached the wing of the mall where Raven’s Healing advertised its location. 

Daichi was still considering turning around when he spotted the store, at the end of a hall that seemed darker than the rest. The storefronts he passed on the way were empty. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed “for rent” signs and leftover debris from whatever store had occupied the space before littered the floors. If he looked closely enough, he could tell that there was a think layer of dust coating the old tools, paint brushes and pieces of construction material. 

He shivered, not appreciating the reminder of the empty space that followed him. He stopped, unsure of whether or not he’d be able to walk the ten paces to Raven’s Healing, and felt a flash of memory strike him like a lightning bolt. The man with Suga’s face at the hospital, his hands on Daichi’s arms, steadying him. Holding him up. He didn’t see it, but he felt Suga smiling, pushing him forward. 

There was no explaining it, and, for once, Daichi didn’t bother. He let the feeling energize his limbs and move them in the direction of the store. 

Hovering in front of a larger image of the inquisitive raven, Daichi imagined Suga grabbing his arm in a hurry, squeezing tight. He imagined Suga smiling wide and pointing out the store, insistent that they go in. He heard Suga’s voice, energetic and mildly annoyed. 

_Strong guy like you no match for a door?_

Like being lifted by a gust of wind, Daichi pushed opened the glass door and stepped into the space, triggering an electronic bell just like the one at Tanaka’s store. The person at the counter looked up from what they were reading and straightened up to their full height, not an insignificant number of inches taller than himself. The clerk had too many freckles dusted across dark skin for Daichi to count and their hair, which was green at the ends, was pulled into a messy bun at the top of their head. When their eyes met, their face contorted for a split-second, too quickly for Daichi to parse. 

“Hi there,” the person behind the counter said with a gentle smile. “Can I help you with something in particular?”

Daichi acknowledged them quietly and cast a quick look around the store. It was tiny, and there were rust-colored stains creeping across the ceiling, but it looked like someone had taken great pains to decorate. Tapestries covered almost every inch of wall space. Green and gray, purple and blue, orange and red. Inky black lines danced from piece to piece in designs that Daichi couldn’t even begin to untangle. Baskets of crystals sat on the counters. Decks of cards, slim volumes and giant tomes stared back at him from their bookshelves. He cleared his throat and asked if Yachi was there. 

“She’s not here, but I can help you, if that’s okay?” They peered at Daichi with barely concealed curiosity and their tone made it seem like their innocent question went beyond the walls that enclosed them. 

“Thank you, no, I’ll just,” Daichi started, but closed his mouth under the scrutiny of the person at the counter. They were looking at him with an expression bordering on pity, but their head was tilted like it weighed them down. Inexplicably, Daichi felt the need to explain himself. “I met Yachi last week, at a group therapy session. She gave me your card and told me to stop by if I wanted to talk.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so! Are you Sawamura-san?”

Daichi raised a hand and scratched nervously at the short hairs on his neck. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Yachi, something about her told him he could, but it was strange to hear his name thrown around so casually by a stranger.

“Sorry!” they blurted, noticing Daichi’s discomfort. “I didn’t mean to assume anything, it’s just that Yacchan said you were nice and that you might come around, or call.”

“It’s okay, really,” Daichi said, the kid’s rambling smothering his discomfort. He tried a smile. “But yeah, that’s me.”

The kid sighed with obvious relief, dropping his shoulders in time with a long exhale. “Phew! That might’ve been awkward if you weren’t. Even more awkward than me just randomly saying your name!”

Daichi laughed, and was surprised that it came from deep in his diaphragm. Genuine mirth hadn’t come easy lately and he found himself liking the kid more and more. “You’re fine,” he chuckled. “I’ll just come back another time, or call first. Thank you though…”

“Yamaguchi!” The kid said, bowing. “Only fair,” they said with a casual shrug, “because I know your name already and all.”

Daichi echoed the gesture and turned to leave, but Yamaguchi’s voice caught him. 

“Sure you don’t want any help before you go?” He asked. “Maybe a quick reading? Tsukki’s in the back and he’s the best.”

“No,” Daichi said delicately. “But thank you.”

“You sure? It’d be on the house?”

A deep voice came from behind a beaded curtain strung across an open doorway behind Yamaguchi. “Stop giving away my services for free.”

“Sorry, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi giggled, obviously not even a little apologetic. “But he really is the best,” they said in a lower voice. “Maybe when you come back to talk to Yachi?”

“Maybe,” Daichi said, lying through his teeth. Just because he was mildly curious didn’t mean he believed in whatever service Yamaguchi had just offered and, even if he did, he didn’t need to relive the horror of his recent past or submit to yet another person telling him that he’d be okay in time. The voice in the back snickered loudly, and Daichi glared at the curtain.

Yamaguchi was unperturbed both by the sardonic laughter and Daichi’s less than charitable mood. “You might be surprised by what you hear. Just don’t rule it out entirely, okay?”

The cryptic request struck a chord deep in Daichi’s heart. It sounded dangerously close to hope. Daichi smiled politely. “I won’t,” Daichi said, mostly out of obligation. He might not have any plans of availing himself of their services, but Yamaguchi did offer him something for free. The least he could do was show some gratitude. “Thank you,” he said with a low bow. 

Yamaguchi seemed satisfied by Daichi’s perfunctory response. “Definitely! It was nice to finally meet you, Sawamura-san. Oh and,” they paused, lowering their smile along with their voice. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Daichi was taken aback for just a moment before he realized that he had already implied his loss by mentioning where he met Yachi, and Yamaguchi must’ve known. “Thank you,” he said again. 

“Of course,” Yamaguchi replied softly. “I’ll let Yachi know you stopped by right away. She’ll be really excited. She needs,” he stopped talking and closed his mouth to hum. “Sorry, I meant to say that she’ll be relieved. She said that talking to you made her feel less alone.”

“I felt the same,” Daichi said, and meant it. 

He lingered another minute or so to appease Yamaguchi’s inquiring smile, and we he stepped out of the store a few minutes later, he practically hissed as he brought his arm up to block out the awful overhead lighting and meandering bits of dialogue from the people walking around the mall. He hadn’t realized just how dimly lit and quiet the store had been until faced with the reality outside of it. 

He readjusted, trying to shrug off the feeling like he was supposed to have found something but didn’t and rubbed his head as he readjusted to the world outside of Yamaguchi, Yachi and the little world of Raven’s Healing. When Daichi reached the train station, he was fully acclimated to his surroundings but he wasn’t able to shake the odd feeling of disappointment that clouded his brain.

The rest of Daichi’s Sunday loomed ominously ahead and, for the first time in what felt like forever, he wanted to talk to someone. 

But it was more than that. After all of the strange happenings and events of the last few days, he wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t deeply entrenched in his personal life. He wanted to shoot the shit and talk about issues that didn’t break his heart with someone who had no idea how he felt. 

It was a strange feeling, but he had learned to accept strange and, once again, laid out his social options.

He loved Tanaka, would give his own life ten times over if it would secure Tanaka’s happiness, but every time he looked at the guy, he couldn’t help see Suga. It wasn’t a bad thing, to be reminded of the man he loved, but even happiness could feel heavy. 

Asahi knew how to separate himself from his work, but sometimes Daichi couldn’t separate the man from the counselor. 

Calling any one of his co-workers on a holiday was out of the question, especially since they had all seen one another the night before. 

Unsurprisingly, Daichi didn’t have many people to turn to in Tokyo, but the memory of awful bedhead and hideous laughter saved him from thinking too much and ruining his afternoon. 

Daichi unlocked his phone before he could talk himself out of it. 

>[Daichi]: Drink at the bar?

>[Kuroo]: Miss me already? 

Daichi rolled his eyes. 

>[Daichi]: Nevermind.

>[Kuroo]: Sorry, can’t take it back. 

>[Daichi]: An hour?

>[Kuroo]: Love me an alcoholic beverage in the afternoon. 

>[Daichi]: You can say no.

>[Kuroo]: I’ll be there. 

Daichi was only twenty minutes from the bar and thirty minutes from his apartment, but he went straight to the bar anyway. Kuroo was right, it was a little early for a drink, but it felt good to sit in the dark and blend into the small crowd of people who weren’t too tired from celebrating the night before. He ended up ordering a drink, and the burn of his whiskey mellowed as it slid down his throat, warming his insides as his body absorbed the alcohol. He managed to nurse it until Kuroo arrived, plopping ungracefully on to the stool next to his. He patted Daichi on the back as he reached over to flag the bartender. 

The motion would’ve been smoother if, as he reached over, Daichi hadn’t nudged him forward, shifting Kuroo slightly off balance and causing him to slip, catching himself on the bar. He looked over his shoulder with a impish grin. “Nice to see you too, Sawamura.” 

Daichi laughed as Kuroo righted himself, smoothing his jacket unnecessarily. “Nothing better to do today then?” 

“I’ve been waiting at the phone, begging for your call,” Kuroo crooned.

“Right,” Daichi said, downing the rest of his whiskey in an exaggerated pull. There had only been half of a sip left, but Kuroo laughed in appreciation. 

They toasted their drinks after two glasses were set in front of them and drank the first few sips in companionable silence. The lull should’ve been awkward, but there was great comfort in being able to sit next to someone who didn’t have undisclosed access to his heart. 

“So,” Kuroo said, smacking his lips. “What’s the occasion? Post birthday-blues? Needed to see my handsome face?”

“I’m starting to regret it,” Daichi mumbled into his drink, making Kuroo cackle. “God, your friend was right, you have a terrible laugh.”

“Remind me to thank Kenma for voicing his _very_ biased opinions.”

Daichi remembered his birthday gathering well, and it occurred to him that he had spent hours with Kuroo’s friends and the only thing he remembered about Kenma, whose name he had forgotten, was his comment about Kuroo’s laugh. He felt a little guilty for letting the guy fall into the background. 

Almost as if Kuroo sensed Daichi’s guilt, he piped up again. “Ken’s quiet, always has been. We’ve been friends,” he moved his lips like he was counting, “practically all our lives. Trust me, he prefers not to be the center of attention when we’re in a group.”

“Unlike someone else,” Daichi said, hoping that the edges of the words were dulled enough to sound like gratitude. 

Kuroo took the cue and raised his glass to Daichi. “That’s why Kenma and I get along so well.” He paused, suddenly more thoughtful than Daichi had ever seen him in their short acquaintance. “God, at least I hope that’s why. I always assumed he was laughing with me, not at me.”

“You could ask?”

“Nah,” Kuroo said, putting his tumbler on the bar and watching the condensation pool around the bottom of the glass, soaking the coaster underneath. “It doesn’t really matter. He’s stuck with me either way.”

“That’s nice,” Daichi said, feeling silly for saying something so boring. At least it seemed to snap Kuroo out of his pensive funk. 

“It is, it is,” Kuroo said, filling the air with words, like a baby getting used to his own voice. “You have fun last night?”

Daichi was surprised to find that he didn’t have to dig for an approximation of the correct answer to Kuroo’s question. He could answer honestly. “Yeah,” he said, feeling himself on the verge of rambling and blaming the whiskey. “I’ve never been one for celebrations, but birthdays were kind of a tradition for us, me and Suga, my partner, so last night was… Good.”

“Ah, good.”

Kuroo bit the inside of his lip as he swirled the last bit of soda water at the bottom of his glass. Bringing Suga into the conversation felt like a natural extension of himself, but as good as it felt to hear Suga’s name, Daichi didn’t want to wander further into that conversation. He changed the subject to appease his curiosity. “So what’s with that guy?”

“What guy?” 

Daichi stared at Kuroo until he shrunk into himself, his hands in the air not unlike Asahi. It was strange seeing Kuroo like that, vulnerable and caught slightly off-guard. The posture made him seem more human under the sarcastic quips. 

“ _That guy_ ” Kuroo said, nodding as he gave up. “Suguru Daishou. Sorry about him.”

“Like I said last night, you don’t have to apologize.” Daichi thought back to Akaashi, the warning he gave while eyeing Bokuto, and the way Kuroo had scoffed at the coiffed man while also not being able to take in enough, like the more he drank the more parched he felt. “Akaashi-“ Kuroo bared his teeth at the mention of his name. “You don’t like him?”

“He doesn’t like me.”

Daichi snorted, hoping to lighten the mood. “Thank you, captain obvious.” Kuroo laughed too, ugly but weighted down around the edges. Daichi knew it well. “If it’s awkward because I work for him and Bokuto, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Kuroo shrugged. “It’s ancient history. Koutarou’s over it, and that’s what matters.” Daichi cocked his head, and Kuroo groaned. “Koutarou, Akaashi, and I have been friends for almost as long as Ken and me. During an off period with Suguru in college, I took up with Koutarou. I thought we were both on the same page, a little carnal intimacy between friends, but apparently Koutarou had taken it more seriously than I did.”

From what little he knew of Bokuto Koutarou, Daichi could understand the man not going into anything half-assed, which made him wonder about the office gossip, whether it was possible that Bokuto could be with Akaashi and not force the knowledge on everything that breathed.

Kuroo eyed him suspiciously, while Daichi was lost in thought, but kept talking. “I don’t think Akaashi’ll ever forgive me for breaking the guy’s heart when I went back to Suguru.” He scrunched his face like it physically hurt him to recall. “I did everything I could to patch it up with Koutarou over the years. I do care about the guy.”

While he agreed that Kuroo had acted selfishly, Daichi also understood that college was a long time ago and that people could grow. They had to, and Kuroo sure as hell looked sorry. Daichi had seen the way Bokuto and Kuroo had looked at each other at his birthday gathering. He wasn’t an expert on reading people’s feelings, at least not the way Suga had been, but they seemed genuinely happy to see one another.

The guy had at least tried to make things better by diving in head first and taking control of a bad situation that he had created. He seemed to come out better for it, as did Bokuto. Daichi struggled to find a way to express what he was thinking without sounding like he was reading it straight from a motivational poster. 

Kuroo stared into his empty glass, unaware of Daichi’s inner turmoil. “I like him a lot, even though I know it doesn’t seem like it.”

“Bokuto?”

“No,” Kuroo said, licking his lips. “Suguru.” Daichi turned toward Kuroo with the hope that the action would be enough to encourage Kuroo to keep talking. He pointed to their empty glasses, and Kuroo nodded. “And I think he likes me, too, in his own way. But we can’t seem to get it right.”

“Why not?” 

Kuroo was quiet while he considered Daichi’s question, but he didn’t seem to be thinking about how to answer. He knew what he wanted to say but he didn’t want to say it. Kuroo had filled the gap in conversation before, so Daichi made an effort. “It’s hard,” he said. Kuroo looked like he was about to crack a joke, so Daichi hurried on with his point. “I _meant_ that it’s hard because caring about someone isn’t always enough. It’s about deciding about whether or not to make a commitment and putting in the work.”

“Commitment.” Kuroo shuddered at the word. “We’ve been through so many years of trying to commit, getting scared, saying something stupid, running off to get involved with other people and then circling back to each other, making _the work_ , as you so succinctly put it, ten times more terrifying. We’ll figure it out someday,” Kuroo added, sounding unsure. 

Daichi frowned. “You don’t know you’ll get a someday.”

Kuroo furrowed his brow and instead of responding with words, he put an arm around Daichi’s shoulders until the bartender delivered another round. 

“Too true,” Kuroo finally said, rubbing the spot right between Daichi’s shoulder blades. “A bit of a cliché though, Sawamura. Thought you’d be able to come with something better.”

Daichi chuckled with the fizzling tension and they toasted their drinks. A thought occurred to him. “Those times we met up here, I thought there might’ve been another guy around. That wasn’t…”

Kuroo cringed. “I might’ve called Suguru to let him know I was hooking up with a hot guy.”

“Healthy,” Daichi quipped, ignoring the compliment. 

“That’s not even the worst part.”

Daichi shook his head, but let the subject drop and moved on to less tempestuous subjects, like trying to imitate the Kuroo’s inhuman chortle and watching Kuroo’s lips disappear as he pressed them into a thin line of disgust before threatening to kick him out of the bar himself. 

When they parted ways, Daichi had the fleeting thought of asking Kuroo to come home with him, but Kuroo stepped away first with a promise that Daichi wasn’t always going to be rid of him that easily. 

Alone on his walk, Daichi was grateful. 

The sun had started to set and it got noticeably colder, but instead of chastising himself for not preparing his layers appropriately Daichi let the cold seep into his exposed skin as he set a brisk pace back to his apartment, allowing the exercise to raise his body temperature. Inside, he turned on all the lights inside his apartment and squinted into the bright interior, wondering when the last time was that he had used all of the lights, and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Hours later, Daichi was nestled in his chair by the window, phone in hand and nursing a smile as it faded contentedly from his lips, lingering around the corners of his mouth. 

Asahi had thanked him for the birthday wishes he’d sent earlier, and Tanaka had sent him a blurry selfie of himself, Asahi and Nishinoya at one of the arcades in Akihabara that Daichi had no interest in patronizing despite Tanaka’s increasingly creative pleas. 

His stomach rumbled, interrupting him mid-text, but his inspection of the fridge only served to remind him of all the days that had gone by in which he had eaten only out of necessity. The shelves were bare except for bottles of open condiments and a take-out container that Daichi didn’t remember getting and was too afraid to open. He knew his pantry shelves were just as empty and didn’t even bother opening the cabinet doors. One reminder was more than enough. 

 

Daichi’s stomach growled again, this time accompanied by a sharp pain, so he grabbed his phone and ordered delivery, thanking whatever looked over them that his usual restaurant was still delivering.

The mapo tofu he had ordered was too spicy for his tastes, but he poked at it diligently, content to have that moment to laugh at himself on Suga’s behalf. 

The dish was Suga’s favorite and he had never found one spicy enough. Daichi wasn’t fool enough to think that the food in front of him would’ve measured up to Suga’s masochistic standards, but he liked to think that Suga would’ve gotten at least a chuckle out of watching him power through the meal on principle with tears in his eyes.

The next morning, Monday after the new year, Daichi ignored the paper files piled in the box on the corner of his desk and the red light on his desk phone that indicated a message. He had gotten to the office early, which wasn’t unusual, and he was alone with the occasional creak of the heating and air filtration systems. 

He’d been woken up by the same worried Suga and couldn’t get back to sleep. The shock of the change had worn off, but he was irritated by it all the same, feeling the hairs on the nape of his neck rise like he was being watched. 

He had a good weekend, as solidly _good_ as it could’ve been, and he was alone in the office with the work that he was being paid to do, but Daichi’s internal pep talk did nothing to mitigate the unease unfurling in his gut and skittering across his skin like centipedes as he stared at his computer screen. 

The tabs from the searches he had made after his run-in at the hospital stared back at him, searches that had been fruitless for the man who wore Suga’s face and overabundant for the doctor who had stepped between them. 

Daichi hadn’t quit looking for Suga’s face until what must’ve been the thousandth page of image search. Apparently, there wasn’t a single person out there who shared the name the stranger had given him, which seemed strange, but Daichi had chalked it up to the loose threads that strained under the weight of his sanity. He knew well enough that gut feelings never held up in court.

On the other hand, there had been so much information about the doctor that Daichi thought he might choke on all of the accolades, praise, articles and cheesy fundraiser portraits. 

Something ugly and shapeless clawed its way out of Daichi’s heart. It poked and prodded as it explored Daichi’s body. It whispered in his ear and told him the obvious facts, that Sugawara Koushi was dead, Yahaba Shigeru didn’t exist and Dr. Oikawa Tooru had all of his gilded cards out on the table for the world to see, might not add up. 

Daichi couldn’t sit still anymore. 

He slammed his laptop shut and shoved it into his bag, wrapping his scarf around his neck while texting Bokuto and Akaashi to let them know that he would be joining the ranks of people who wouldn’t be coming into the office that day and left without waiting for a response, or permission.

Daichi’s phone vibrated against his thigh as he turned on to the small street just a few blocks before the hospital, avoiding the sprawling medical complex ahead. He had no desire to cross paths with the doctor, or any member of the hospital’s security personnel. Remembering the gleam in Dr. Oikawa’s eye when he threatened to boot him from the premises was more than enough to deter him, but he had walked in that direction anyway when he left Garden Place.

He continued toward the café with the pink logo, the one that matched the paper cup still on his kitchen counter back in Ebisu, and didn’t check his phone until he was seated in front of the large windows that overlooked the sidewalk with a fresh cup of coffee. 

Bokuto had responded with a flexing bicep emoji, which was baffling but not entirely unusual. Akaashi was more straightforward.

>[Akaashi]: Is everything okay?

Daichi ran through a litany of lame excuses before settling on a modified version of the truth.

>[Daichi]: No problem, just taking the day. Can be in after lunch if you need me. 

>[Akaashi]: Not necessary. See you tomorrow. 

Daichi rolled his neck and shoulders, attempting to ease some of the tension that collected in his upper back. He hadn’t planned on coming to the café again, but for whatever reason it had seemed like the only option. 

Gingerly reaching into his bag, Daichi pulled out his laptop like it might attack and set it on the small wooden table, opening the screen again, braced for what awaited him and ready to close out of every tab that he didn’t need for work.

Despite his honorable intentions toward work, however, Daichi found himself looking over the top of the machine. It was barely eight and the shop was buzzing with patrons already, which might’ve been due to other cafés being closed for the holiday weekend but he couldn’t rule out the possibility that it was always that busy. At one point, the line of people waiting for drinks wrapped around the front counter and ended one person shy of blocking the entrance. The customers at the pick-up counter laughed with their companions, checked their phones with a stony faces or stared into nothing, like they couldn’t bring themselves to face the day. 

While the counter was mobbed, Daichi noticed there weren’t many people seated at the tables around him. He shifted in his chair and realized why; they were definitely not made for getting comfortable. He hadn’t noticed when he’d been there with Asahi, having been more distracted by their chat than he thought, but the plastic seat was barely big enough to hold him and the intricately woven wire design on the seat back jabbed into his ribcage. They were meant for a movie sets, brief conversations or stolen moments, not camping out with your law practice. 

He tried to take his mind off bits and pieces of chair sticking into his body by examining his paper cup. It was identical to the one he still had next to his kitchen sink, with the same cloyingly pink logo. There was a word hidden in the looping, ornate swirls, spelled with Roman characters.

Oiseau.

Bird.

Much to his parent’s and advisors’ dismay, Suga had taken a few French classes in college when everyone had told he him should’ve focused on English, too curious about the world for his own good. He hadn’t kept up with the language, but Daichi occasionally heard him singing in broken French under his breath or caught a glimpse of a language app on his phone when he had to push Suga’s devices off his side of the bed so that he could get in. How they all ended up there, Daichi never knew. He’d never asked. His heart clenched with the power of such a simple memory, one that he might’ve forgotten, one that he might forget again and lose forever.

He refocused on the cup in his hand. Upon closer inspection of the logo, the letters themselves, along with additional swoops and lines, created an abstract picture of a bird. Daichi almost dropped the cup, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. There was a crow hidden in the design. A bird just like the one in the logo of a certain New Age shop in a dingy mall across town.

Daichi told himself to get up, to throw the cup away and get some goddamn work done, but he was rooted in place by the same conflicted feeling he got when he and Suga used to argue, how he’d present and support the cold, hard facts while his heart screamed in tandem with Suga’s rising frustration. The resurfaced memory seared yet another scar into the damaged tissue of his heart and he was trying to reclaim the moment by staring daggers at nothing in particular when he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, just like it had in the office. A full-body shudder forced his eyes toward the window just in time.

Silver hair escaped a yellow knit cap. His face was securely tucked into a light blue scarf. He walked with his hands in his pockets, slightly hunched and bundled in a tan coat trimmed with wool. Angry splotches of red bloomed on his face. 

He was unmistakable. 

Even if it was a stranger, a man with a different name somehow parading around with Suga’s face, even if Daichi were hallucinating, suffering from a cruel trick his grief-stricken mind was played on him, he couldn’t allow Suga to be cold and alone and, before he fully registered the action, he was five steps away from the table. 

Daichi burst out of the door and intercepted Suga on the sidewalk right outside the large windows. “Hey,” he blurted quickly, before he had time to think about it. 

Suga’s head jerked back, revealing the rest of his face, and his eyes were wide with surprise, but he stood his ground. Daichi would’ve expected nothing less. 

“Hi?”

The sharp sting of Suga not recognizing him in the hospital had been successfully filed under both hopelessness and impossibility, but that didn’t mean it was any easier the second time. Suga’s eyes held nothing but wary curiosity and Daichi felt a knife twist in his stomach.

“Oh,” Suga said, interrupting Daichi’s snowballing internal panic with a dazzling smile and a finger pointed at Daichi’s chest. “Hospital guy!”

Tears pricked at the corners of Daichi’s eyes and he laughed, unable to come up with any other response to the way Suga’s face lit up with recognition. “You remembered,” he said in a shaky voice. 

“Took me a hot minute, because you surprised the everloving shit out of me, but I’m glad to see you’re okay,” he said, appraising Daichi with an adorably furrowed brow. “Right?”

In that exact and precious moment, he felt better than okay, like maybe his grieving was the nightmare and he had just woken up, but he couldn’t find the words. 

“Okay,” Suga said, drawing out the word in Daichi’s silence. His eyes widened again and he shivered on Daichi’s behalf. “Jesus! Where’s your coat?”

“Actually...” Daichi flinched with embarrassment. “My stuff is inside already.”

Suga nodded slowly, undeterred but raking his eyes over Daichi more thoroughly than he did just a second before. “Then there’s no sense staying out here. I feel like the cold is actually, physically biting me in the ass.” Daichi stepped aside to open the door, and Suga’s tongue peeked through his teeth as he smiled. “Why thank you,” he said as he waltzed through the door. “Though I probably should’ve opened the door for you. Unless you’re one of those guys that thinks freezing your balls off makes you look manly.”

Daichi forced down a laugh, but the job lacked conviction. The corners of his mouth lifted along with Suga’s. “You distracted me.”

The words were playful but they dripped sincerity the same way Daichi’s palms began to sweat. He followed as Suga queued at the counter. 

Suga turned to him after they secured a place in line. “I kind of hate to ask, but you’re not actually crazy, are you?”

Daichi sure felt crazy. The whole damn situation was crazy. But it was far beyond him to break whatever spell had brought Suga this close to him again. “I didn’t used to think so,” he answered. 

“Honest, at least,” Suga said thoughtfully. They moved another couple of steps forward. “Tooru said that it would be best if to stay away if I ran into you again.”

The mention of the doctor sent an unpleasant chill through his body, colder still as he considered Suga’s words. 

Suga rolled his eyes and waved his hand in the air like he wanted to wave goodbye to the thought. “But who knows with that guy.”

Daichi wasn’t sure he wanted to ask, but the question burned in the back of his throat. “Why me?”

“Dunno,” Suga shrugged. “But I wouldn’t take it too personally. He worries, or,” he paused, tilting his head with a finger to his chin, “at least he tells me he worries. Sometimes I feel like it’s less about me and more about the freak control issues he swears up and down he doesn’t have.” 

“Control issues?” Daichi asked, subconsciously stepping closer. Suga didn’t move away and let Daichi into his space. Daichi’s fingers twitched at his side, just inches away from Suga’s hand. 

“Yeah, but it’s not like he locks me away in a tower. He’s just annoying. And whiny. I can take of myself, despite all this nonsense,” he said as he gestured vaguely to his head. Daichi pursed his lips, holding himself back from moving even further into Suga’s space by gripping the edge of the counter. His fingers hurt, clenched around the smooth surface with white knuckles. Suga glanced down at Daichi’s hands. “But that’s pretty heavy conversation for a couple of strangers just trying to get their caffeine, don't cha think?” 

Daichi couldn’t argue, even if he’d been able to find the words to speak his mind. Whoever he was, he was right. No matter how he looked at his current situation, Daichi couldn’t justify pushing the matter further. The knife twisted again but he took a deep breath, and then another before letting go of the counter. He shook his hands to stretch his fingers while the man who couldn’t be Suga watched with an inscrutable expression. Daichi apologized with the most genuine smile he could muster despite having more questions answers and, as they waited in line, the guy’s glances became less wary and more curious, lingering longer on Daichi’s features with each pass over his face, his eyes glittering in amusement.

Suga had looked at Daichi like that before.

Daichi hadn’t been paying attention when he stumbled into the bookstore. His eyes were bleary, barely focused, and he’d too tired to be embarrassed by the three days of stubble on his face. His years of law school had been an endless climb up a never-ending mountain, except instead of going up he just lapped the proverbial chunk of rock with nothing to show for it but more lines on his face, and it was the week before finals, a short amount of time that had already felt like three eternities in hell. 

The only thing that could’ve made it worse was fact that he had lost his estate law textbook and none of his classmates had been willing to part with theirs.

He blinked at the students around him, all of them more zombie than human. The days, hours, minutes and seconds were dwindling and he absolutely had to make it back to his apartment to start studying. He had raised his head to count people in line when he saw a young guy, probably his own age, with graying hair, standing at the counter in the store’s ugly polo shirt uniform with another guy, tall and brawny, with a shaved head.

The guy with the shaved head had said something Daichi didn’t catch, but he certainly didn’t miss the lightning fast punch, the way the shaved head guy doubled over in pain or the way the ashen blonde continued his conversation with the customer at the register like nothing had happened.

The bizarre incident had seemed so incongruous with the man’s delicate features and surprised Daichi so completely that he lost balance, knocking into the guy behind him and sending the other guy’s phone flying. The guy had snatched his phone off the floor and snarled at Daichi, but Daichi had barely heard him. It should’ve mortified him, he should’ve apologized, he should’ve done a million and one things differently but the handsome guy with the killer arm had been eyeing him from behind the cash register with obvious delight. 

When he finally made it to the front of the line, Daichi had forgotten about everything, the man who left in a huff about his phone, his upcoming finals, his last few semesters of law school. He had even forgotten the reason he had been in line in the first place. 

Daichi had returned later that afternoon with the name of his textbook written on his hand. He had also returned the next day, and the day after that. 

He had never deluded himself so thoroughly as to think the guy behind the counter had known what he was doing to him just by cracking a joke or wearing a silly shirt under his uniform, but his glittering eyes drew him in like gravity and Daichi knew, like he had never known anything in his young life, that no matter what happened he would love the guy forever.

And, just like during those lazy afternoons at the university bookstore, Daichi wanted to know everything about the man who tapped on the café counter as he looked at the pink menu on the wall. He wanted to talk until their throats were hoarse and kiss until their jaws hurt. He wanted to run his hands over every curve of his body, touch every mole and kiss every dip of skin between his bones. He wanted to try everything to see what made him laugh and wanted to learn what made him cry so that he could be a shield. 

Maybe they could fall in love again, Daichi thought, worrying his bottom lip. He could take Suga out on another first date. He could hold his coat over their heads when it rained. He could take him away from that doctor, the one that Daichi was growing to hate more and more with each passing second. 

He could go back to dreaming about nothing and waking up to everything.

The rush of traitorous emotion made him unsteady, and Daichi leaned into the counter with his entire body. He already knew all of those things. He had already been on those dates. He had already fallen in love. 

It wasn’t the first time they were meeting, and the man in front of him wasn’t Suga. It couldn’t be. 

He felt the Earth as it spun them through space. He was confused, hurt and angry, and just as he was about to grab the man with Suga’s face, drop to his knees and beg for answers, the man looked at him with Suga’s eyes and Daichi couldn’t do a damn thing but bask in his gaze.

“I think we’re next,” he chirped. 

If he had noticed Daichi’s distress, he didn’t say anything, but Daichi apologized anyway. He rubbed his forehead to buy himself another moment. It wasn’t the guy’s fault that Daichi was seeing ghosts again. “Can I get you something?” 

“I’m picking up for the nurses, so I’m just going to use Tooru’s card, but,” he said, Suga’s lips curling in a deliciously devious smile, “If you’re offering...”

Daichi laughed, a hushed sound that rode on his exhale, and stepped up to the counter. He ordered a second coffee he knew he wouldn’t drink and looked to the man for his order. He recited Suga’s order in his head at the same time the man gave his own to the barista.

“Green tea, please!”

They drank the same thing in the morning, his Suga and the man with Suga’s face. Another inconceivable, miserable coincidence for Daichi to add to the pile. He took both of their drinks to the table which, mercifully, still had his stuff. The man joined him while he waited for his larger order, wrapping his hands around his cup of green tea. He closed his eyes and brought his face close to the steam, the opaque swirls of hot air blending with the wild whirls of Suga’s mercury-colored hair. He eyed Daichi over the paper rim and grinned, this time small and thoughtful. “You ordered your coffee the same way I gave it you last week.”

Daichi held up his cup, like the action could be an answer in and of itself. 

“Did you do that just to humor me?”

“It’s just how I always drink my coffee,” Daichi said quietly. 

The man pursed his lips to the side, trying to read between the lines of Daichi’s feeble smile. “Is that so?” Daichi hummed while he took a sip of his coffee. “Let’s say I believe you and, if that’s the case then you’re telling me that I’ve been ordering an extra coffee every time exactly the way you drink it for the past two years?”

Their table was small, but Daichi was glad his legs were hidden well enough that no one could see them shake. “Seems like it,” Daichi said in a strangled voice. He thought of Asahi, back in the real world. “Though I’m told it’s not an uncommon way to drink coffee.”

The other man at the table was about to say something when the barista called out the name he had given for the coffees, the same unfamiliar one Shimizu-san had given Daichi at the hospital. He perked up just like it was his own name and responded to it immediately, just as Daichi would’ve if they had called his name. 

He looked over at the counter just as the guy tried to balance the two overflowing trays in his arms. He fought for balance, smiling at the barista who tried to help him and keeping his smile even as the coffees tipped precariously back and forth. It was enough; no matter who the guy was, Daichi couldn’t let him struggle, not when he looked like Suga. 

“Need a hand?” Daichi asked. He had already put on his coat and adjusted his packed bag over his shoulder, holding his hands out for one of the trays. 

The guy shook his head, somehow managing both trays at once, like he had done when Daichi saw him the first time a few days ago. “Thanks, but it’s probably best you don’t come near the hospital. For some reason your visit to the hospital really riled Tooru up and if I have to deal with any more of his bitching, I might actually kill him.”

Daichi swallowed down the spike of jealousy and ignored the rattling thoughts that pushed against the inside of his skull. The man, whoever he might be, was about to leave, and Daichi would be alone again. Alone and without answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask. He should’ve accepted defeat but his mind raced. “Do you come here often?”

“I think you missed the window for pick-up lines,” he said with a loud snort.

“That’s not,” Daichi stopped. He was running out of time. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure sure,” the guy said. “But, just in case you were serious, I come every Monday and Friday before my appointments.”

“Same time?”

The guy, Daichi tried so hard to remind himself that it wasn’t Suga, tried to bite back a smile, but it was too wild to contain. “Why? You going to be my gallant hot beverage knight, swooping in to buy me a drink even when I’ve got someone else’s money?”

Daichi regretted telling the truth as soon as the words left his mouth. “I’d do anything for you.”

“What?”

They stood near the door, facing each other in uncomfortable silence but neither making a move to escape. 

“That was weird,” Daichi admitted unhappily. He was ashamed of the way his face heated up with embarrassment. “I’m sorry for bothering you, I’m just-”

The man interrupted Daichi by putting a hand on his arm. He squeezed, just like he had at the hospital, and Daichi let out a shaky breath. “Weird is fine,” he said. “Which is also weird, but I’ll put up with it for the low, low price of a cup of tea twice a week.”

Daichi laughed as the tears hit his cheeks, unable to believe that the stranger in front of him could dispel his mind-shattering anxiety with a brush of his fingers. Then again, Suga had been able to do just that.

“There’s just something about you...” he trailed off. “I never caught your name.”

“Sawamura Daichi. Daichi, though. Please.” He waited with baited breath while the man silently rolled the syllables around in his mouth, debating the use of his given name despite it being given. 

He waited for Suga to say his name, one more time. 

“Daichi.” He looked like he was going to ask a question, but shook his head instead. “I have to go before Satori chews off his own hands for lack of caffeine and blames me, but I’ll see you Friday?”

Daichi heard his voice, but it was distorted, like he was speaking underwater. “I’ll be here.”

The man nodded once and, with a smile and a wave, left Oiseau. Daichi watched him go, thinking that, of all the excruciatingly painful things that had happened, standing still and watching someone with Suga’s face disappear into the crowd was the most difficult of them all. 

Customers continued to push past him, elbowing his side, cursing at him for being in the way, but he stayed there, in everyone’s way, until his phone buzzed with a message from Tanaka. 

>[Tanaka]: New place opened up near the store, heard it was good. Try it today?

“Shit,” Daichi muttered. He’d forgotten all about his standing Monday lunch date with Tanaka and, looking at the time, he’d be at least ten minutes late. Letting Tanaka know he was on his way, he took one last steadying breath and looked around the café like it might all disappear before pushing his way back into the city.

He was panting by the time he got there and Tanaka pumped his fist at Daichi’s entrance. He did a complicated but well-rehearsed handshake with Kinoshita, who must’ve come back from vacation already, behind the counter, grabbed his coat from out of thin air and met Daichi before he was five steps in, turning him around with both hands. 

Once the doors had closed behind them and they were en route to food, Tanaka bumped into Daichi’s shoulder. “You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Tanaka took a long step so that he was in front of Daichi and grabbed his shoulders. “Seriously, you look like crap.”

He hated lying to Tanaka, but Daichi wasn’t ready to process his morning. He wouldn’t know how to go about it even if he were. “I’m just tired,” he said, adding, “It’s been a rough morning.”

Tanaka put an arm around Daichi’s shoulder, and Daichi leaned in, not having realized how much he needed to be held by someone he knew wasn’t an apparition come back to haunt him. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Daichi said. 

“You know I got your back.”

Daichi put his arm around Tanaka’s waist. “I know.”

Together, they walked to the curry place that Tanaka had recommended, and Daichi listened with feigned annoyance as Tanaka gushed about his _epic_ trip to the arcade with Asahi and Nishinoya. It became readily apparent that the trip had been for Asahi’s birthday despite the man not having had much interest in going before Nishinoya mentioned it, and Tanaka tagged along. Daichi had to bite his tongue in order not to laugh at Asahi being steamrolled into things by the two of them.

Between rushed bites curry rice, Tanaka imitated the voices from some of the games in a booming voice that made other patrons look over in disgust and pretended to play some of the more involved ones, just to, as he put it, “give Daichi a taste of what he missed.” In return, Daichi crumbled up a napkin and threw it in Tanaka’s face, making him spit the food in his mouth with a sharp bark of laughter. 

Daichi couldn’t be sure if Tanaka was simply in a good mood from the weekend, or if he knew that Daichi needed something tangible to keep from drowning and threw out his raucous enthusiasm like a lifeline. He figured it was a little bit of both and held on for dear life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes yes, back on my bullshit but thank y'all for reading my sad sack of a story. I appreciate it immensely. Next chapter up some time in December. The plan is to finish the entire first draft of this story during nanowrimo (but you know the thing about plans and life) so I might even have an idea of chapter count. But no promises. 
> 
> Uhhh, again, thanks for indulging me. Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Unbeta'ed, so forgive my stupid grammatical errors and instances of oversight. 
> 
> Next up, more Raven's Healing, more asanoya, more Suga, more Fukurodani, more everyone (?).

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for making it through the first chapter!! 
> 
> Updates will be monthly-ish so I can work on other things (fics and original), but the chapters will be longer, 8-10k. The story itself is about three quarters done and will probably be massive, so I might end up making it a series to explore some of the side pairings, relationships between characters, and past events/memories? Who knows?? Next update is planned for the second week in March, give or take a few days. 
> 
> If you like it, let me know, if you don’t... you can let me know that as well, haha. I have no beta reader and errors will surely be in abundance. 
> 
> Chapter two: Daichi sees a ghost.
> 
> Talk to me here or on [tumblr](http://jellyryans.tumblr.com/).


End file.
